


Loving What's There

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Intelligent Lambert, Erectile Dysfunction, Flashbacks, Found Family, Kaer Morhen, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rennes Survived, Rennes is Not Dead, Soft Vesemir (The Witcher), Soft Witchers, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Vesemir was a sounding board for Rennes, someone to think through the difficult decisions with him. Rennes might be the head of the School of the Wolf, but Vesemir was his partner in every aspect, help when he needed it.Now Vesemir was alone, had been for so long, you'd think he was used to it by now. But every year, when he took out those delicate silver objects made with Rennes' loving hand, he felt the tears catch at the back of his throat.
Relationships: Rennes/Vesemir (The Witcher)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 163





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rawrkinjd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/gifts).



> This fic is for the lovely and talented RawrkinJD. Rawr has been the most amazing writing partner and friend, really helping me feel less alone and adrift these last few months. Rawr always knows how to pull me into a rare pair and I hope this Rennes/Vesemir hits the spot <3
> 
> In a slightly selfish turn, I feel like this is the spiritual successor to "Soap, and the Scents of Home." It's not in that same verse, but I used a lot of the elements. This fic is about finding love again, and the supportive way Jaskier treated all the Witchers in that verse fit very nicely here. I hope Rawr enjoys the fic.
> 
> There are other, background relationships here (Jaskier/Geralt, Geralt/Eskel, Jaskier/Lambert, basically Jaskier/Everyone) but since they aren't the main focus, I didn't tag them. This fic is Vesemir/Rennes all the way.

The cart horse huffed and Vesemir reached out to stroke her nose. “Almost done.” They had one more stop to make before heading out to camp for the night. Oh, but the sun was already getting low... Vesemir didn't have enough coin for an inn. Maybe they'd let him stay in the barn with the horses. This is why he hated doing supply runs on his own, the stops took too long and he was forced to stay out in the world longer. Vesemir walked The Path every once in a while, to meet his pups for a difficult contract, or get a little extra gold for Kaer Morhen, but after so many years alone, he preferred his walls, crumbling as they may be.

And this last stop was more than a bit self serving. They were out of silver polish, of all the damn things. The boys ( _his boys_ , they'd never stop being Vesemir's pups) brought their own in winter to take care of the weapons, but they ignored the old ornaments around the keep. They didn't know where they came from, that knowledge lost along with the rest of their brothers. But Vesemir remembered, he knew who made the wolf headed silver knuckles Geralt used to fight the striga, he remembered who made Eskel's silver chain, and the silver sword Lambert used to this day. There were several decorative silver pieces—ornate bowls and talismans, delicate rings and chains that would never survive The Path, made with the tiny scraps left over after forging a good sword—that survived the attack. Vesemir kept them safe in his room, in a locked cupboard none of the others had ever seen, and every year before they returned home, he polished every piece, remembering the hands that made them.

Of all the bodies they burned after the sacking of the keep, Vesemir looked and looked, but never found Rennes. Was he one of the ones too damaged and disfigured to identify? Or did Vesemir's grief merely blind him, not letting him see the face of his brother, his longest love...

So long ago now, when Geralt and Eskel's class was still going through, Vesemir would stop in Rennes' rooms for a night cap, and then a little more... But their talk of the school, the newest class, which boys they had a good feeling about, it always turned to Geralt and Eskel. “They're close,” Vesemir said over a glass of good brandy. They didn't get the good stuff out every night, but Rennes liked to spoil them after a hard day. A new batch was going through the Grasses tomorrow... they needed a little happiness beforehand, to help cope with what they must do come the morrow.

Rennes' smile always lit up his face, his real smile that he only gave to Vesemir, not the fake baring of teeth he used in the halls to greet the other instructors. Head of the school, had to keep up appearances. “You think they're too close? Need to separate them?”

The brandy reflected in Vesemir's eyes as he looked at his partner. “Didn't do much for us, if I remember. Put them in opposite dorms, they'll find a way to climb the balconies to close the gap between them.”

Rennes nodded. “We need to prepare them, I've also heard what the mages have planned for Geralt.”

“Yes.” Vesemir saw the awkward teenaged fumbling, he remembered going about it the same way with Rennes, his eyes still brown and deep, lips soft...

They weren't supposed to get attached to the initiates, it wasn't the stoic Witcher way, but Vesemir couldn't help it. Geralt and Eskel, they fit together, fought well, made each other better. For one to survive when the other didn't... he knew how hearing of Rennes' death would've broken his heart at that age. The fact that they both made it through the trials, and survived The Path long enough to become mentors, well, he didn't expect that lightning to strike twice. But fuck if he wasn't going to do all he could now.

“I will make every effort,” Rennes said, giving his best diplomatic headmaster answer. “Now, I believe we have other matters to attend to.” Setting his glass aside, he plucked the glass tumbler from Vesemir's fingers as well—these were the headmaster's good drinking glasses, no one but Vesemir got to use them regularly—and settled on the arm of the chair, leaning in to Vesemir. They were both too old to crawl across laps anymore, but how he longed to simply curl up together and forget their dreary world for a moment.

Warm breath ghosted across his neck, lips next to his ear. “You were very rude in the halls today. Don't think I didn't see what you did with your tongue.”

Vesemir smirked and wrapped an arms around Rennes' hips, the other hand sliding between his legs, teasing the hard line of his cock. “I don't know what you're talking about...” Vesemir knew exactly what he was talking about. When Barmin's back was turned, but Rennes' eyes focused on him, he flicked his tongue out, slowly licking across his lips, a promise for more later. Well, it was later now wasn't it?

He let Vesemir pull him out of his clothes and push them both onto the bed, where he crawled between Rennes' spread knees. Fingers combed through dark gray hair and they moved together, like they always had. The discussion of Geralt's extra trials was still at the back of their minds, and Rennes appreciated Vesemir all the more; he was a sounding board, someone to think through the difficult decisions with him. Rennes might be the head of the School of the Wolf, but Vesemir was his partner in every aspect, help when he needed it.

Now Vesemir was alone, had been for so long, you'd think he was used to it by now. But every year, when he took out those delicate silver objects made with Rennes' loving hand, he felt the tears catch at the back of his throat. And now he was out of fucking silver polish and couldn't even show them their proper respect. It was a stupid thing, a somewhat frivolous need, the boys would have enough polish with them when they arrived in a few weeks' time, he could easily steal some... He headed towards the silversmith, determined to get this last, selfish thing on his supply run.

Usually, Vesemir had to track down traveling craftsman to get good silver polish, but he heard a rumor that an actual silversmith set up shop at the end of last winter. He saw the sign hanging there, simple, no bragging about it, which meant the man was probably good. Fine crafters rarely felt the need to crow about their accomplishments, the work spoke for itself.

He parked the cart outside and tied up the horse. As soon as he pushed open the door, the display at the front caught his eye. Sitting next to a rather fine set of silver flatware were two knuckledusters. Silver knuckledusters. With silver wolf heads.

The bottom of Vesemir's stomach dropped and he looked up, searching for the silversmith. The shop wasn't even a shop, just a wall built at the front with two sides and the back open to the work shop, which in turn was open to the other side of the street. A hanging canvas was pulled back to one side, no doubt it could be dropped to keep the chill of winter out, but the weather was still warm enough, the work space needed to vent.

“Be right with you.” Though his head was down, engrossed in the intricate work in his hands, Vesemir knew that voice anywhere. Hair as gray as his own was gathered back in a low tail at his neck, a few more wrinkles and lines, but the face was the same. Bushy mustache that had always been impractical, but was too beautiful to trim back... Rennes sat behind the work bench, quietly going about his day while Vesemir's world rearranged before his eyes.

They never found Rennes' body. So many were caught in sleep clothes, gardening trousers and gloves, armor couldn't be used to identify... Vesemir assumed, he found Rennes' body and simply didn't want to acknowledge it as such. His old lover, his best friend, did not make it through the siege. And yet, there he sat.

The screams, the choking smoke filling the air, the tang of blood... Rennes had been there. He was there, Vesemir saw him, their eyes locking across the courtyard before losing each other in the melee. They had to protect their school, their students. For once, they couldn't protect one another. Vesemir blamed himself, all these years. If he only grabbed Rennes, fought back to back, they could've cut through more invaders, saved more lives. But Witchers were solitary and they each went to do what they could, and Rennes gave his life for his school.

“There we are. Now, how can I help you?” Golden eyes looked up at him with that smile, that _real_ smile, the one that used to be for Vesemir alone. He got to watch it dawn across Rennes' face, then slowly fade once again. “No,” he breathed. “You can't—you can't be here.”

Swallowing down the old ache in his heart—the one that never really went away, not after all these years—and the happiness that bloomed inside him at the sight of a face he thought he'd never see again, Vesemir whispered, “I could say the same for you.”

Fingers shaking, Rennes set his work down, always gently, not to ruin the finished piece, and stood up. He lifted a trembling hand and pointed towards the door. “Lock it.” Vesemir did as asked, then waited for an answer. He'd wait all fucking night, until the sun set and rose again, until the whole world burned around them. “How are you... alive?” Rennes' voice didn't shake, he was always too steady for that, but there were tears in his eyes, and matching tears blurring Vesemir's vision. He wiped them away, never again would anything obstruct his view of Rennes' handsome face.

“I survived. Thought you didn't. Thought you—” Vesemir's voice wasn't strong enough and he cut himself off before it could break, tears rolling down his face. “I thought I _burned_ you.”

“The invaders. They followed me. I escaped through a crack in the west wall, led them away. If they followed me, they'd leave the keep alone, give you time to regroup. I killed them, but still heard the screams. I kept running, I couldn't... the keep was burning. I thought there was nothing to go back to. Fuck.” He collapsed back into his chair. “I thought everyone was dead! There was nothing left.”

“I was left. I was still there. A few others... you didn't hear?” Yes, Witchers liked their privacy, but with Geralt's bard shouting of their adventures from every bar top and stage, Rennes had to know, he must've heard his pack was still alive. Not exactly thriving, but alive.

“No. I've tried to avoid talk of Witchers. It's too painful. I thought I was the only Wolf left.” He finally ducked his head, shame getting the best of him. He didn't deserve to look Vesemir in the eye, not after his cowardice turned out to be worse than he first thought; Rennes believed he simply refused to see the death of all he held dear, he never though, never _dreamed_ there were other survivors. And he abandoned them too. Abandoning the living was far worse than abandoning the dead.

“Four. There are four left.”

So many questions filled Vesemir's mind. If Rennes was alive all these years, why did he not return? Most Witchers of old saw Kaer Morhen first as their prison, then as their bunk, a simple place to lay their head come winter, but for Rennes, it was his home. He was one of the only boys to walk through the gates at the tender age of five, scowl on his face and announced, “Let's be havin' it then!” He rose to become the leader of their school and poured all that fearless passion into its walls: more tapestries, more warmth in winter, it was a castle, he liked to say, not a bare troop barracks. How did he never want to go back? Just to see the place, relive old memories. And if he returned, he would've found Vesemir alive and well, they could've been happy together once again... Instead they were both left to mourn.

Vesemir shook the questions from him mind. They could wait. The need to touch Rennes, feel that he was real and solid, not just some vision, was too intense. Bolting across the room, he stepped behind the work table and yanked Rennes to his feet, wrapping him in a bone crunching hug. “I thought I burned you,” he whispered. “But you're still here.”

His armor creaked as strong arms encircled him, holding somehow harder. “I thought I had nothing to go back to.”

Vesemir couldn't take it, he pulled away just long enough to smash their lips together. His stubbly face and that silly fucking mustache rubbed together, tickling a little. Lips weren't used to it anymore. He hadn't kissed anyone in... well, since Rennes. Jaskier brushed soft, courtly kisses against his cheeks in greeting, but it wasn't like this, the hot tongue licking across his, chapped lips rough and beautiful against his own. Vesemir moaned into the kiss, pushing Rennes back against the table. Now that he started kissing, he couldn't stop, drinking his old lover in. He tasted the same, like smoke of a warm campfire and the last hints of his meal clinging to his lips, a bit of mead on top of it. Vesemir never wanted to let go again.

Firm hands fell to his hips and pushed, _pushed_ until it hurt and Vesemir had to back away. He kept his hands on Rennes' shoulders though, he wasn't about to let him out of his sight again. “I don't... Why are you here?”

“Heard there was a silversmith in town now. Needed polish.” Vesemir ran his fingers through the wisps of hair that escaped the tail at his neck, curling them around his gloved fingers. “Don't you know how close you are to Kaer Morhen?”

All the color drained from Rennes' face and he pulled back farther, almost stumbling. Vesemir caught him. “I can't, Ves—I can't. I don't deserve to see it.”

“Yes. You're coming back with me.” There were few moments in his life Vesemir could identify to as a point of absolute clarity: the day he met Rennes, their eyes locking across the courtyard and Vesemir knew there was more to explore there, friendship, a companion; the day he watched Eskel and Geralt have the same moment, knowing they'd be partners in the difficult life The Path brought; and the moment he first set eyes on Jaskier, he knew their pack would start to grow again, the vibrant human taking well to his role of protecting their hearts as much as Vesemir tried to protect their lives. And now, he had another moment of clarity, Rennes would return to Kaer Morhen with him, he'd see the remainders of his family, learn to fit with them again. Vesemir would accept no other answer.

He crowded in, thumb stroking his cheek, their lips close enough to kiss. “It isn't about deserving, none of it is. Do you know how much shit we've all been a part of over the past years?” Oh, there was so much to tell. “We need to be together. You've been gone too long. The boys have each other, but I need...” His eyes fell closed and he pressed their foreheads together. “You led with me at your side. I've been alone. Don't make me be alone again.”

Their eyes locked together and Vesemir saw all the words Rennes would never say out loud. _Where is your anger, Wolf? Why don't you hate me? I abandoned you, left you alone with your grief for me. I am a coward, I do not deserve your forgiveness._

Vesemir tried to answer back without words, _I've been without you long enough. I've loved you most of my life, in life and in death, why would you ask me to hate you?_

Rennes' lips trembled and he moved away, shaking his head. “I have work here, orders to fill. I'm not a Wolf anymore, I'm a silversmith. I'm sorry, Vesemir, I can't leave with you. I don't... I don't belong there anymore. Kaer Morhen is for Wolves.”

Oh, so they were going to take the guilty road? Vesemir's day had proceeded as such: exhausting, yet necessary errands, the prospect of sleeping alone in a stable before he returned to his empty home, then the sudden, beautiful sight of a face he thought long gone from this world, love and grief and pain flooding in at the same moment, all washed away with forgiveness and the deepest happiness Vesemir had ever felt. He was too old for guilt, he found the joyful spark of his youth and fuck if he wasn't bringing it home with him. _Their_ home.

Vesemir crossed his arms over his chest. “How long to finish your open orders?”

Rennes paused before answering. “Two days.”

“Alright.” He peered around the shop and spotted a rough chair in the corner, probably for customers to wait in. He sat down, watching Rennes. “When you're finished, we ride to Kaer Morhen. I have supplies in a cart outside.”

The mingled shock, guilt and happiness etched across Rennes' face quickly morphed to irritation. His brow drawn tight, he flailed an arm around. “I'm not going back. I don't deserve to be there again. I'm not a Wolf anymore. Those aren't my halls.”

Vesemir shrugged. “Yes, I see your medallion has gone missing. We have more up at the keep. Finish your work, we ride out in two days.”

“I have a shop! I can't simply leave!”

“Lots of businesses close for winter,” Vesemir answered. “Hang a sign.”

One bushy brow twitched, shoulders starting to slump in defeat. “Vesemir, I can't.”

His lips turned down, tears threatening once again. Fuck, Vesemir hadn't cried this much in a very long time, not since Geralt came back injured, almost dead... “And I can no longer live without you. Thinking you were dead and beyond my reach was bad enough, now you ask me to leave when I know you're still here for me to love?” He sat back in the chair, arms still crossed. “I will drag you behind my cart if I have to.” _For I will not lose you again_.

Rennes let out a frustrated growl and turned back to his work table. “I have customers coming. Don't scare them off.”

For the next two days, Vesemir didn't let Rennes out of his sight, didn't give him a chance to run. He was far too honorable to take the easy way out, but a life of guilt made people stupid. Every once in a while, when it was too quiet in the shop and Vesemir was just staring at him, Rennes would growl, “I'm not coming with you.”

When the final customer collected their order—a silver bowl decorated with leaves and vines, a wedding present—Rennes turned the sign on his door and rested his head against the wood. “How bad is it?”

“Bad.” He wouldn't lie, not after all these years. “We repair what we can, made it a home once again.”

“We? You said four...”

“Including myself.” Well, the bard made five, technically. They had a journey ahead of them, Vesemir could explain more.

Rennes still leaned against the door, his fingers curled into a claw, nails digging into the shit wood. “I don't... Vesemir.”

“I want you back. I want you in our home again. _Please_.”

It took another moment, Rennes blinking rapidly to keep the tears away. He was a coward, he didn't deserve to see Kaer Morhen with it's soaring towers and walls broken by the attack. He didn't deserve anything, not even the small life he'd eked out as a traveling silversmith. He finally saved up enough to get his own shop and of course he put it in the shadow of the Blue Mountains. Of course his unconscious mind led him back home. He should've fucking known.

It took another day to pack up. Vesemir helped, storing Rennes' tools carefully in the cart to make sure they survived the journey. When he found the wolf medallion tucked away with Rennes' bedroll, he immediately hung it around the other Witcher's neck. “Doesn't matter what you think of yourself, you never stop being a Wolf.”

They walked out of town together, a few people murmuring about “that nice silversmith caught up with Witchers?” Vesemir ignored them. They didn't walk arm in arm as Vesemir would like, but he stood close enough for their fingers to brush every now and again.

He never would've thought a week ago, when he left Kaer Morhen to get supplies for when his pack returned for the winter, he'd end up finding some of his own lost pack. Another mentor for his pups, someone they remembered as a Witcher not to cross, but still fair in his judgments, but Rennes was so much more for Vesemir. For the first time in years, the cracks in his heart started to heal.


	2. Broken Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heat in his chest bled away, an icy fist closing around Rennes' heart. He stopped dead, the memory of his walls—cracked, broken—the screams echoing through the air. Hundreds of Witchers cut down to four. Four. And Rennes just left them to their fates... Suddenly, he smelled the blood on the air, screams ringing in his ears once again.
> 
> His arms flailed out as he fell, trying to catch himself. A strong hand around his elbow held him in place. “I've got you,” Vesemir whispered. “I've got you.” His voice was so far away.

The wolf medallion hung around Rennes' neck like a millstone. The day he first took it off, he stood by a river, ready to throw it in. He didn't deserve the honor of being a Witcher anymore, not after abandoning his keep to burn with—what he thought—were the bodies of his brothers and friends inside. Now that he knew he left actual living, breathing Wolves behind... the guilt only got worse. That day by the river, the mere thought of abandoning the last link he had to his home and his pack tore through him and he couldn't do it, couldn't sever that last thread. A coward once again. He threw the medallion into the bottom of his saddle bag instead, swearing never to wear it again. And here it was around his neck, Vesemir's hand in his...

Alone on the roads and forest paths, Vesemir walked closer to him, letting their shoulders brush, tangling their fingers together, Vesemir lifting his hand to kiss over his knuckles, rub his nose across the weathered skin. “Those wolf knuckledusters... I knew no one else could make them,” Vesemir purred.

He answered any question Rennes had. “Who survived?”

“Geralt and Eskel.”

“Ah, of course. Geralt always was a fighter. And where you find Geralt—”

“You find Eskel.” A phrase the instructors mumbled to each other every time the two trainees were dragged in together after a bit of mischief. Rennes shook his head at the memory of the fucking bee and the jug, both of them standing in his office, giggles shaking their shoulders. _Gods give me strength_ , he prayed every time they darkened his doorway. Of course those little shits survived, little shit bastards made the best Witchers. “Lambert too.”

“Oh, that fucking child.” The one Vesemir dragged through the gates at the age of eight, kicking and screaming, shouting about buggery and fucking dirty old Witchers eating his ass. Every single eyebrow in the castle raised that day as they all collectively wondered how long this one would last. He had the right amount of fire, an attitude to watch out for, but he was too old, too skinny, his body might not survive, no matter how strong the spirit. “I remember he tried to escape?” Rennes reached back into his memory, recalling reports covering his desk written in neat, classical hands but filled with invective and scorn for their newest trainee. _Can we drown him?_ someone asked, rather desperately. Rennes calmly wrote back _No, we cannot_.

“Several times,” Vesemir said. “He still climbs the towers, sees how high he can get.”

Warmth bloomed in Rennes' chest for the first time in so very long, it wasn't satisfaction at a job well done, or relief that he had enough coin to eat that night, but actual, honest happiness. His _family_ , he still had a family left. After watching their walls crumble and fall, something grew among the ruins. A garden he was no longer there to tend...

The heat in his chest bled away, an icy fist closing around his heart. He stopped dead, the memory of his walls—cracked, broken—the screams echoing through the air. Hundreds of Witchers cut down to four. _Four_. And Rennes just left them to their fates... Suddenly, he smelled the blood on the air, screams ringing in his ears once again.

His arms flailed out as he fell, trying to catch himself. A strong hand around his elbow held him in place. “I've got you,” Vesemir whispered. “I've got you.” His voice was so far away.

The wind howled, taking the pained shouts of his brethren with them, carrying them behind him as he ran. Rennes heard the battle long after he could no longer see it or smell it, sounds of the dying and the mostly dead. He thought that was it, evil crawled into his home and took it from him, all he had left was to run, let his feet carry him far, far away.

Rough fingers on his cheek brought Rennes back, the memory fading as quickly as it came on. There were no more screams, only birds and other forest sounds. No smoke on the air, but the scent of decaying leaves and a fresh stream nearby. A ragged breath tore from his lips and there was a firm chest against his, Vesemir's heart beating with his. “We'll camp here.”

The sun was still up, just starting to make its arc towards the horizon, they had another two hours ahead of them easy, three if they really wanted. Rennes didn't want to slow them down anymore... “I can keep going.”

Vesemir snorted and shook his head. “No. I need a rest too. Not as young as I used to be.” One more firm squeeze and Vesemir started setting up camp. After life on the road, bringing his trade with him, Rennes didn't have many belongings and all his things fit in the back of Vesemir's wagon along with the supplies.

Two bedrolls—always side by side—were laid out and Vesemir ordered him to sit. Rennes sat, and watched Vesemir work around him, starting the fire, getting their dinner together. They only had trail rations, but Vesemir assured him, there was better food at the keep. “I'm almost finished stocking for winter,” he said. “We should be comfortable. Boys will be home in a few weeks.”

Rennes closed his eyes and tried to remember their faces—Geralt with his striking hair, the power of Eskel's Signs mixed with his soft stoicism, and Lambert, just... Lambert—their images blurred a little in his mind. Would he recognize them? Would they recognize him? Would they care?

A hand settled at his waist and he startled out of his thoughts. “It's alright,” Vesemir said. “The pups, they have bad days too. We all do. It's a part of surviving.”

“Pups?” The instructors had a lot of nicknames for the initiates, ranging from the fatalistic (cannon fodder, shit-stains, brats, little bastards) to the neutral (whelps, wolflings) to the fond. _Pups_. Only a handful of instructors called them pups, and never to their faces. It was too dangerous to love them when they were young, not when you might lose them a week later, but Vesemir always let his voice soften when he talked about his _pups_ , their _pups_.

“We are fewer now, but they're still my pack. Our pack.”

They ate and Rennes asked more questions. Vesemir didn't hold anything back: the keep wasn't in good condition. They repaired what they could, made it fit for winter every year, but it wasn't the towering stone edifice of old. “The battle scarred her, just like it scarred us.”

Vesemir said nothing when Rennes turned inwards, thinking too deeply. He said nothing when they lay down at night and wrapped around each other, Rennes holding onto Vesemir like life even as he smelled salt on the air. He understood, Vesemir had decades to get used to the ruin of his home, here he was pushing it on Rennes all at once... But it needed to be done. Wolves did not belong out alone in the wild. Men liked to romanticize the idea of “the lone wolf,” a solitary creature that needed nothing and no one, when the truth of it was, lone wolves were only alone because their pack was lost, dead or worse. Rennes lost his pack, and now Vesemir could lead him back to it. That was worth whatever pain they had to go through, and to be sure, Vesemir would stay by Rennes' side through it all.

* * *

It took longer to reach Kaer Morhen than usual. Luckily, they didn't have any perishable supplies. Rennes stopped, his face going blank whenever a memory hit. Vesemir remembered those days. He remembered walking into a room, then snapping back to attention to find an hour had passed, Geralt and Eskel gathered around him, afraid they'd finally lost him to the battle that was still so fresh for them all.

And there were nightmares, of course, those never really went away. Before Jaskier, Vesemir would rise from his bed and make his way to whichever room the pained groans came from, petting sweaty hair until golden eyes opened, lips trembling in fear long passed, suddenly brought back to the fore. Jaskier made it better, the soft human was warm and clever, deciding it was better they all lump together at night, a friendly face never far when the odd nightmare struck. Vesemir still came down to check when he heard the wrong sort of moans, and always found Jaskier's brilliant blue eyes focused on the Witcher under his hand, sometimes nuzzling their noses together or licking away tears.

 _That one_ , Vesemir thought as he closed the door softly behind him, _was meant to be a Wolf._

He saw his pups get better under Jaskier's care, and now Vesemir would give Rennes that same attention. He felt like a coward, a traitor to his school for running and never returning. Well, guilt was fucking stupid, Vesemir had had enough of it and Rennes would get none from him.

Another episode struck at the bottom of the hill, as soon as Rennes set eyes on the half destroyed tower that used to contain some of the professor rooms. They'd been good about stopping whenever a flashback seized Rennes, but they were so close now. Vesemir took his hand and led him along the path towards their home. “It's bad, I know. It's better inside, I can promise you that. I've made it a home again, just like you always wanted it to be.”

Home, yes. Their home. The others scoffed at him with every new improvement. “Why do we need a mural? Who cares?” “Silver kills monsters, Rennes, don't waste it on fucking _decorations_.” They didn't care about comforts because they'd never had any. Rennes was tired of watching his brothers and mentors slink home after a hard year on The Path, only to scowl at the blank walls around them. As soon as the front hall was filled with warm fur rugs, a tapestry with the rolling grass of the valley in spring greeting them from the cold, they changed their tune. No one scowled at the wolf heads embroidered into the collar of a cape, or the silver clasp at their throat shaped like a fang. After decades—centuries—of business as usual, treating their keep as nothing more than a place to rest their heads, Rennes turned it into a home, one he hoped more Witchers would survive to come back to. It was easier to survive The Path when you had a reason.

Yes, more Witchers survived The Path during Rennes' tenure, but none of them survived the keep itself.

He should've known, as soon as he saw the front gate—broken, the chain and mechanism rusted—he should've expected the horrors inside. But really, how could one expect this? It was worse, so much worse than he remembered. The walls weren't just cracked, but crumbling, giant gaps in important sections. There was scaffolding, work materials that looked like permanent residents of the courtyard. When one spot was fixed, another fell down. All these years, Rennes kept Kaer Morhen in his mind, her strong walls warmed by the sun, her halls and corridors filled with grumbling laughter and life. She was empty now, a shell, a husk. The more he saw—the broken walls were just the beginning, but the shabby stables that once held a dozen horses were now only fit for half that, her flagstones were dirty, scratched, only two long tables in the dining hall, the inner walls just piles of rubble, ripped tapestries, faded paint—the more it hurt until Rennes was bent double, leaning on Vesemir.

The stink of battle surrounded him, blood and fire. And he stood, frozen in front of a giant gap in the west wall, eyes wide as he watched his brothers and his initiates die around him. “Get 'im!” a voice shouted. Rennes gripped tight to the sword in his hand—silver, the first one he could grab, but it fit, silver for monsters destroying his home—and saw five, no, ten men running towards him, more following.

_Run. Run and they'll follow. Run and they'll leave your home._

So he ran. He ran to lead the invaders away and cut them down later. But as their blood stained his hands, he looked towards Kaer Morhen and saw her in flames. He ran again, until his lungs burned hotter than his home. Gone, all of it gone... and he turned away, wasn't even brave enough to bury his dead.

“Rennes!” A firm hand slapped across his face and arms like steel wrapped around him, holding him in place. He was standing in the remains of the dining hall, body struggling, surging back towards the doors. Pain flared across his chest as Vesemir's gauntlet dug into his skin. The pain helped, gave him something to focus on and he went limp, both of them falling to the floor.

“It's my fault,” he wheezed, breath caught in his throat. His heart was hammering far too hard but he didn't want to slow it. He didn't deserve the comfort of controlling his panic. “I remember now. The rumors...” Ravens from kitchen witches, sent by those on The Path, or rumors passed from School to School. _Something is coming, something is building, got run out of three towns in a row..._ Rennes knew, he fucking knew the world was turning against them. Witchers all high and mighty in their castles, with their mutations and their mages. The tide was moving, sweeping them out to sea where they would all drown. But he was foolish, he thought the walls people so hated would protect them. What mortal would want to venture into their valley just to fight a castle full of super humans? It sounded mad, beyond insane. He took no precautions, thinking them invincible, and the hubris of it cost him dearly.

The layers of long buried memories came back, wave after wave. The year Osbert came back with a broken wrist badly healing, “Farmer did it. Attacked me with his men after I rid their well of a fucking wraith! Five against one, I fled...” Or the grain supply he ordered that arrived half rotten. He was used to good product, he trusted the local merchants... but they did not trust the Witchers, it seemed. So many small signs, they were no longer protectors, but pariahs, and he'd believed it would all blow over.

Rennes' strength left him and he let Vesemir hold him tight. “The fault lies with the invaders, not you.” He'd had this same conversation with Geralt, over and over. If he wasn't hurt, sucking up their resources, he would've been able to fight better... Bullshit, all of it. Fuck knew why Witchers preferred to blame themselves over others but Vesemir was sick and tired of it. “It might look empty now, but come winter, the pups are home. There's music again, laughter. I promise, I've built a good home for us. Come on. We can't sit here, it'll kill my back.”

Rennes let Vesemir lift him, pull him through the hall, through familiar corridors he only half remembered. Then he saw the door to the evening hall and his eyes went wide. “The springs. Did they—”

“Yes, they survived. The boys' bard keeps them well during the winter.” Yes, Jaskier came here as Geralt's guest, but he soon loved them all, giving smiles and soft touches wherever they were requested. Last winter, Vesemir dubbed him “the Bard of Kaer Morhen” and Jaskier blushed so furiously, his face was warmer than the fire.

“Bard... you mentioned.” It was all jumbled in his head now, had been for days. So much new information fighting for room next to old memories fresh once again. All these years, Rennes only had nightmares now and again, and never full blown memories, usually screams or a splash of blood across old stones. The moment he saw Vesemir, began the journey back with him, it all returned in livid, horrifying color. He tasted the smoke on the air, smelled the blood, heard the screams echoing in his head. And now he saw his home in tatters, his memories of his perfect, shining keep gone... forever.

The last few days, Vesemir's arms were the only things holding him together, and they held him even now. As they stripped and climbed into the spring, the hot water pushed into his muscles, trying to pull his tension out. “Just like the old days,” Vesemir whispered into his hair. There was soap, the nicest soap Rennes had ever used, well made with a gentle scent that didn't hurt his nose. “Jaskier makes it. The bard. He knows what we like.” He lathered a cloth and rubbed away the grime from their trip, carefully touching Rennes, rough old fingers as soft as possible.

It wasn't sexual. Vesemir didn't try to move them towards anything. Though they spent the night in each other's arms, exchanged kisses and Rennes felt stirring flesh against his side, he didn't... it wasn't... it had been a long time. Between the assault of buried memories, he couldn't think, couldn't remember the last time... all he knew were Vesemir's lips, and right now, they were enough to keep him grounded. The blood behind his eyes receded for the moment, leaving gray hair and a golden gaze sliding over him.

“It's better in winter?” he asked.

“It's better now, but yes, it's more lively in winter. We train in the morning, play Gwent at night. Lambert's a shark, but Jaskier has his number.”

“Tell me more.” He leaned his head into Vesemir's shoulder. “Tell me more.”

Vesemir told him more, of Geralt and Eskel's deep love for each other— “We were right about that one, two halves of the same soul.” —Lambert's sharp tongue, and their newest addition, a human to hold them all together and spark happiness in their souls once again. “Winter is good,” he said as he rinsed the soap from Rennes' hair, then his own. “It's happy, I promise.”

“Happy,” Rennes repeated.

They soaked in the spring for what felt like hours, the heat of the water stirring his loins a little. Vesemir's hands were lovely too, softly stroking, nails scratching lightly. Again and again, Rennes captured his lips, desperate to feel something other than the howling grief in his mind.

“We should get out,” Vesemir mumbled against his lips. “I'll cook dinner.” Once again, Rennes let himself be led. Vesemir wrapped them up in some of the nicer bath sheets they had, catching every drip before the walked naked through the keep. “No use putting on dirty clothes.” Up in Vesemir's room, “Our room,” he said, “if you like,” he handed Rennes a spare set of clothes, a tunic and breeches that smelled like Vesemir, like a cooking hearth, rosemary and butter.

“I can stay here? With you?” he asked, fingers rubbing over the soft, worn fabric.

“Yes, if you want. I'd like it.”

They ate dinner, a simple meal, quick. The sun had barely set when Vesemir pulled him from the table, leading him back to his bed. Their bed now. “Your office is still in tact, they never made it that far. If you want to see.”

“I don't, I don't think...”

“It's alright.” A stubbly cheek brushed against his, warm lips on his neck. “You don't have to. We can take it slow.” Vesemir squeezed him tight before they undressed, newly bathed skin fresh and warm under old, cracked hands. “I'm so glad I found you, I never dreamed...” he trailed off, lips suddenly more concerned with kisses than words.

As Vesemir's hands slid down his sides, Rennes' voice caught in his throat. The touch was welcome, more than welcome, part of him needed Vesemir, it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing in on himself like the walls of the ruined courtyard. “Vesemir, I don't think—I can't. I can't give you anything.”

“You don't need to.” A hand cupped his soft prick, thumb flicking gently over the head, there to appreciate not arouse. “Let me hold you?”

“Yes. Yes.” Though his cock didn't move or react to the warm touch, Rennes fell on Vesemir's lips like a starving man. Climbing into bed, he threaded his fingers in Vesemir's hair, pulling out his top knot and letting the other Witcher do the same. A curtain of gray hair surrounded them, scratchy beards rubbing together, but he couldn't stop. Rennes drank down Vesemir's moans like sweet wine, licking into his mouth as tears slowly rolled down his cheeks. He didn't deserve any of it—the comfort, the hungry kisses—yet he couldn't let go. He held tight to Vesemir as they kissed, tears stinging his eyes already.

“Rennes,” Vesemir panted as the other man pulled away, starting to kiss down his chest. He knew where this was going, and yes, he _wanted_ , but Rennes didn't seem ready. He wouldn't push. “Rennes, stop.” Lips froze on his belly and Vesemir pulled him up until they were nose to nose. He brushed away tears. “You don't need to do this, any of it. I'm simply happy to have you back. You're home, that's all I need.”

“Home.” A sob broke from Rennes' chest and the tears came harder. Vesemir licked them away before pulling his lover into his arms once again, stroking his hair until they both slept.

As they got closer and closer to Kaer Morhen, Rennes got quieter and quieter. Vesemir had seen it before. Eskel was the one to turn inwards, while Lambert's rage exploded everywhere. Geralt vacillated between the two extremes. He knew it would be difficult, after so many years repressing memories they all just fucking powered through, Rennes was probably in worse shape than any of them. It would take time, but it was worth it. All those years ago, Vesemir knew if the choice was between his life or Rennes, he'd pick Rennes every time, and now he didn't have to. Discovering a lost brother, a lost partner out in the world was the most remarkable thing Vesemir had seen in over four hundred years. He was not about to turn him away for being broken.

* * *

Light streamed in the windows and Vesemir rolled over. Usually, his bed was empty, but he could never hope to forget who shared it with him last night and cast an arm out to find him. The other side of the bed was already cold and his eyes flew open. The spare clothes were gone, as were Rennes' boots. “Fuck.”

He sat up and dressed quickly, missing half his buttons. “Rennes!” Vesemir shouted, running through the halls. “Rennes! Where are you?”

There was a scraping noise from outside, and the wet _plop_ of mortar. Vesemir turned and ran out the front doors into the bright morning sun. Rennes stood on top of the scaffolding, a stack of bricks at his feet, trowel and mortar in hand. “No need to shout!” he called back. “I may not be a monster hunter anymore, but my hearing is excellent!”

Vesemir put his hands on his hips and took a moment to let his breath return to normal. “I make the boys patch the walls in winter.”

Rennes shrugged, finishing another brick. “It was my keep once, I left her. My responsibility to put her right.”

Heaving a great sigh, Vesemir found another trowel and climbed up the scaffolding. He grabbed a brick. “ _Our_ keep,” he grumbled.

Rennes smirked. “Yes. Our keep.”

It was a few more weeks until winter, Rennes insisted on attending to the most grueling tasks, repairs, chopping fire wood, stocking the pantries. He didn't slow down for a moment, falling into bed exhausted every night. “The pups can do it,” Vesemir whispered against his lips. His cock was hard against Rennes' side and he let him touch it, but never expected much. He wouldn't push, never.

Tonight, Rennes wasn't completely exhausted and kissed back, his hand sliding over the fat head of Vesemir's cock, spreading the welling precome down his shaft. “I abandoned Kaer Morhen once, I shall not push my duties off on others again. Now...” He kissed down Vesemir's jaw, coming to rest with his ear over his heart. “Will you let me see to this duty?”

Every night, they went a little farther, deep kisses as Vesemir rutted against Rennes' thigh, a hand around his cock stroking tentatively, and now lips. It was good, it felt right. But every time, Rennes' prick remained flaccid against his thigh. It was fine, Vesemir didn't need the cock, as long as the man attached to it was with him. “I'm never letting you out of my sight again,” he whispered every night before they fell asleep.

“Hmm,” Rennes hummed, eyes already closing. “I think I like the sound of that. _”_

Only a few more weeks until the boys were home, and then Vesemir's family would be complete. More complete than it had been in years.


	3. Stitched Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, Vesemir relished the touch. So long since he last felt those hands on his skin, he was selfish and let Rennes pull him off. When he realized what it really was—an obligation, a requirement Rennes held himself to—the happiness quickly soured. He pulled his hips away, holding Rennes to his chest. “You don't have to,” he said firmly.
> 
> “I want to.” He tried to get his mouth around Vesemir's prick again only to have the other Witcher roll them over, pinning Rennes to the bed. For the first time in weeks, fucking months, he felt the quick spike of passion stirring between his legs.

By the time cold started to set in, Rennes frowned out at the courtyard. One break in one wall. That's all they managed in their weeks of work. Other gaps remained, wide and terrible, scars on their home.

Rennes almost collapsed back only to find Vesemir's firm body there to catch him. “We do what we can. That's all we can ask of ourselves.”

He was getting better at speaking his mind, saying the feelings and torrential thoughts out loud. After so many years mostly alone, it was hard, but Vesemir expected more of him. Deserved more. “I broke her. I must fix her.”

Vesemir ran his nose up the side of his neck. “We don't search out the imperfections. We love what's there.”

“Love.” Rennes snorted. “Who taught my stoic Witcher to love?”

“The bard. I think you'll like him.”

Working himself to the bone during the day—finding more to repair, locating the old tapestries folded away and sewing what he could—Rennes crawled into bed exhausted every night, but he still had another duty, to the Witcher who guarded their keep in his absence. Eyes falling closed, he kissed down Vesemir's chest by feel alone, it didn't take him long to relearn his lover's body.

“Rennes,” Vesemir gasped between hot kisses. “You don't have to.”

“Let me.”

At first, Vesemir relished the touch. So long since he last felt those hands on his skin, he was selfish and let Rennes pull him off. When he realized what it really was—an obligation, a requirement Rennes held himself to—the happiness quickly soured. He pulled his hips away, holding Rennes to his chest. “You don't have to,” he said firmly.

“I want to.” He tried to get his mouth around Vesemir's prick again only to have the other Witcher roll them over, pinning Rennes to the bed. For the first time in weeks, fucking _months_ , he felt the quick spike of passion stirring between his legs.

Vesemir's hands held firm, hips pinning him. Fierce golden eyes met his, lips pulled back to snarl. “I know what you're doing. Trying to exhaust yourself so the nightmares won't come. You think this is my first time dealing with battle trauma? I have three every winter. Geralt blames himself for being less than fighting fit. Eskel and Lambert think it's their fault because they shirked their duties and didn't tend to needed repairs. We blamed ourselves for too long. I will not watch you do the same now.”

Though he felt the cock suddenly stiff against his hip, Vesemir ignored it in favor of looking deep into Rennes' eyes. “I will not hate you. Don't ask me to.”

Vesemir never pretended he didn't see the tears, he didn't ignore them, he simply didn't comment. So many times, they held their tears back when letting their grief flow would've done them all a world of good. He wasn't about to forget those lessons. Releasing Rennes' wrists, he gathered him into his arms like they did every night, stroking his hair, kissing whatever bit of skin he could reach.

They fell into an uneasy sleep, the nightmares that sometimes wracked through Rennes coming again this night. Vesemir held him through it.

* * *

When the first wisps of snow floated through the air, Vesemir saw a familiar Witcher on the mountain. Lambert. Fuck. Usually Eskel was the first home, Vesemir counted on his calm, diplomatic nature to ease Rennes into seeing the pack again. For weeks now, it was just them, laughing at old stories, splashing in the hot springs, kissing and holding through the night. He was excited to see his pups, reintroduce them to their old mentor, but Lambert was... complicated.

“Wait here,” he said the day Lambert was almost outside the gates. “Lambert is...”

Rennes waved him away, his hands filled with sewing. He was still trying to repair the largest of their tapestries but Vesemir didn't have the correct supplies, he made do with the wrong color thread. Anything to keep his hands busy. “He was a bastard child, can't imagine he's much different full grown. I'll follow your lead.”

Vesemir had to take a moment to steady himself. Having Rennes back... it was more than he ever dreamed. The love reflected in those eyes, he didn't know how much he missed it until it was in front of him once again. They almost fell back into step, but not quite, there were little differences. Back when Rennes was Headmaster, Vesemir was happy to support him and follow his lead. Now, Rennes followed him. It was different.

The sudden urge to kiss him filled Vesemir's chest and he leaned down, capturing those lips he could now kiss whenever he wanted. As usual, Rennes leaned in, trying to give more, be more. Vesemir had to pull away, sighing and resting their foreheads together. “I have to go collect Lambert. Save _that_ for later.” Vesemir had to adjust himself as he left their room, making his way down to the courtyard.

His horse walking behind him, Lambert actually smiled when he saw Vesemir. “Wait.” His smile fell as soon as Vesemir held up a hand, bringing him to a halt.

“Fucking serious? My feet hurt, I want to lay down.”

Well, there was no easing into it, Lambert probably wouldn't wait for long. “I found Rennes. On a supply run.”

Lambert squinted before understanding dawned, lips parting. “Rennes? Headmaster Rennes? That old bastard? I thought—he didn't make it out—no one did.”

Vesemir's eyes flicked to the western wall, the gap they'd never managed to patch. The gap Rennes used to lead some of their attackers away. He couldn't say for certain, but removing ten men from the fight might've saved them. Rennes was unconvinced, too deeply buried in his shame and cowardice. Vesemir was working on it. “It's a long story. He led some of the fanatics through the walls, killed them. But he thought we all perished and couldn't make himself come back. Been a silversmith out in the world, but now he's here, with us. Where he belongs.”

Lambert huffed, shaking his head and pushing passed Vesemir. “Thought Jaskier went in for the tender shit. I'm tired, going down to the springs.” Though his words were callous and mocking, Lambert brushed his shoulder against Vesemir's in a small greeting. When Eskel got there, they'd do it properly, bear hugs in the front hall, foreheads leaning together, breathing as one. Lambert simply took longer to shake the anger of The Path, he needed solitude for a day or so.

Vesemir waited for Lambert to secure his horse and they walked back inside together. “Not sure how I feel about the beard.” Eyes snapped up to see Rennes standing in the front hall, appraising Lambert like they used to, sizing up who was going to last another year and who was going to die. Lambert was always a mystery, even to Rennes.

The youngest Witcher bristled before scowling. “Your mustache always looked like you pulled the tail off a skunk and stuck it on your face, but I don't go around telling you that.”

“Actually, you did once.” Rennes smiled at the memory and it took Lambert a minute to... accept it. The man he remembered was as tall as a tree, walked like a giant scattering humans at his feet, with shrewd eyes that monitored every small change in his domain.

“Yeah well, you probably deserved it.” He shifted on his sore feet, adjusting the strap of his bag. “I'm not going to call you sir.”

“I'm not asking you to, Rennes is more than fine.”

“Going to the spring.” Lambert walked towards the stairs to put his things away. He'd stay in his own room until the others showed up, then they'd all crowd together with Geralt and Jaskier, the bard insisted on it. For the first time, Vesemir would have his own bed company and his chest swelled at the thought.

Once Lambert was gone, mostly out of earshot, Rennes' shoulders slumped. “He always like that?”

“At the beginning. They soften each other up. Didn't used to be that way.” He slid his hand across the small of Rennes' back. He was still getting used to this, being allowed to touch whenever he wanted; as teachers and mentors, they had to control their emotions in front of the students, saving their passion for the dark of their bed. Vesemir still preferred it that way, but enjoyed stolen kisses in the middle of the hall. Who was there to stop them? The old rules no longer applied and for the first time, he was grateful for that.

They returned to the solitude of their room, Rennes continuing work on the tapestry, Vesemir sitting by the fire with him reading. He managed to find another arm chair that was in decent shape and brought it to their bedroom, so they could both sit together, just like the old days when Vesemir visited Rennes' room in the dark of the night. As he read, a weight of worry fell from Vesemir's shoulders. Lambert was going to be the hardest one, either he'd clam up and pretend nothing was different, or interrogate Rennes over his whereabouts for the last decades. Thankfully, it was the former and they could go on with their quiet life. The nightmares weren't every night now. It was progress, slow but sure progress.

“Lambert looks good, strong,” Rennes said after some time.

“Yes. They all are. I can't wait for you to see them.”

Lambert appeared for dinner that night, his shoulders a little less tense. He sat down and looked to either side of him, frowning a little at the empty bench. He wasn't used to being the first one home. Dinner wasn't quite ready, but the warmth of the cooking fire drew everyone down to the main hall. Vesemir, so accustomed to Rennes sitting quietly, watching him cook, didn't expect Lambert to open his fucking mouth. In hindsight, he really should have, though.

“So, you're not a pile of ash.”

Vesemir's hand stilled, the food was on the plates, all he had to do was bring them to the table and then his idiot child would have something to stuff up the asshole that was his mouth. “Lambert, stow it,” he growled low, a warning.

“No, I think we should have a good conversation about this.” He grabbed his mug and took a deep drink, eyes not leaving Rennes. “Vesemir gave me the short version. Why you left: distracted a few invaders, led them away. All well and good. But.” He cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow arched in that half amused, half curious look Lambert had, like a confused puppy that was deciding whether to bite your face or lick your hand. “Why didn't you return? Finish the fight with us. Why didn't you _ever_ return? Vesemir would've had his... whatever, back.” He flapped a hand in their general direction. The students liked taking bets about which instructors were sleeping together, or, more accurately, who could fuck right off and who could join them. Lambert never _knew_ Vesemir and Rennes were a thing, but by the way the Old Wolf looked at the fallen (or not so fallen) Headmaster's portrait all these years definitely suggested there was more there.

“I saw the fires, I thought—”

“Thought they were burning us, not that we were burning each other.” Lambert shook his head and took another deep pull from his mug. “Fucking shame. Well, at least Vesemir has someone to share his torture souvenirs with again.” The slam of the rough mug against the scarred dining table cracked through the hall as Lambert stood, sweeping up his plate in one hand. “I'll eat in my room, if you don't mind. And keep it down tonight. These are my only days of peace before I have Eskel and Geralt poking at my ass, Jaskier after my cock.” He grabbed the bottle of wine at the end of the table—the one Vesemir was saving for after dinner, something sweet to celebrate Lambert's homecoming—and sauntered out of the hall.

He heard a door slam upstairs and shook his head. “I'm sorry. He'll warm up. As soon as the others get here, they... contrast him.”

“No, that was fine. He was right to say it.” Reaching over, Rennes tangled their fingers together, his thumb rubbing circles over the back of Vesemir's knuckles. “ _You_ won't say it, I'm glad your pups will.”

“Only Lambert. Geralt and Eskel will mind their manners.” Or Vesemir would make them mind their manners. “We're done with blame here, I keep telling you. Too many years of it.”

They finished their meal as they did most nights, only this time, Rennes' knee brushed against Vesemir's. It didn't seem deliberate, there was no pattern to it, but it was definitely on purpose. The way he moved, opened his legs a little wider to get closer, their fingers still curled together. When they finished the last of the meat, and the last of the ale, Rennes pulled him from his seat, bringing their lips together. He thrust his hips, showing off the half hard bulge in his breeches. “Yes?” he whispered as he ran his tongue across Vesemir's bottom lip.

“Yes.”

Up in their room, the fire was banked, casting a dim glow over the stone and familiar wood furniture. Vesemir had pieces rescued from every part of the castle, whatever was still whole; chairs from the library, a desk from one of the offices, and Rennes' own bed frame. Every night, they dropped into the same bed they shared a hundred years ago, and every night, Rennes closed his eyes and tried not to see his walls tumbling down. It worked tonight, when he closed his eyes and pressed their lips together, pulling Vesemir's hands to hold his throat, all Rennes saw was their bed, his partner warm and waiting for him.

Leaning Vesemir against the foot board, he stripped them quickly, hands used to shaping delicate silver pieces were more than a match for toggles and ties. Soon, he knelt naked at Vesemir's feet, cock hard—fully hard—for the first time in... he didn't know. Rennes moved Vesemir's hands until one broad thumb settled over his adam's apple. He pushed and Vesemir got the idea, applying slight pressure. It was more than enough. His cock jerked, precome dripping down onto the floor.

“Rennes—”

“Shh, let me.” Fluffy gray hair tickled his chin as he kissed across a soft stomach with hard muscle lingering underneath. He sucked a light love bite into the plush winter stomach before continuing down, lips brushing the head of Vesemir's cock.

“Rennes,” the moan spilled from his lips, absolutely dripping with lust and desire. Rennes swallowed him down whole and Vesemir's hand moved to tug at his hair, the tail at his neck a grip of sorts. Mild pain sparked across his scalp along with tingling pleasure and his cock jerked again. Yes, this was good, this is what he needed, what he deserved.

Vesemir let him lick and suck at his cock until his knees ached. It didn't take long with such old knees, but he'd easily kneel for a thousand years as he worshiped Vesemir's body. The hand tugging at his hair moved to his shoulder, pulling at him. “Up. Up.”

He stood and Vesemir immediately threw him onto the bed, pushing his face into the pillows. The hard cock, now slick with his spit, brushed between his cheeks. “Is this what you want?” Vesemir growled. “Want me to fuck you like this?”

“Yes,” Rennes groaned, thrusting his hips back. The large hand that tugged at his hair came down on his ass in a firm slap. “Yes, fuck me.”

Vesemir bit the back of his neck before climbing off, pushing his head down into the pillows for good measure. “Stay.” As quick as possible, Vesemir grabbed his tin of slick from the bedside drawer, then returned to the bed, leaning over and biting one of Rennes' cheeks. They should talk about this, they definitely needed to set up... boundaries, safe words, whatever the fuck was involved. Vesemir was four hundred fucking years old, he thought his days of rough sex were behind him, but if Rennes needed it... Vesemir wouldn't hate him with his words or his heart, so some hurt—just a little, just enough—with his hands seemed a decent compromise.

Once he had a good red bite sucked into Rennes' ass cheek, he sat up, straddling his thighs and slicking his finger. “How long's it been?”

“Long. You don't have to be gentle. Ah!”

Vesemir answered Rennes' request for punishment with a firm slap across both cheeks, then gently stroked his slick finger around his opening. “I'll be as gentle as I like.” One more slap and he smelled arousal thick on the air. As soon as Rennes relaxed enough, Vesemir slowly pushed in, massaging the stubborn muscle with all the care and delicacy he had.

“Mmm, yes, please,” Rennes begged. His hands balling into fists in the sheets, face buried in the pillows. Vesemir loved nothing more than to look at the face he thought he'd lost, but if Rennes needed this, he'd give it, of course he would.

It seemed to take forever and no time at all, but eventually, Vesemir had three fingers in Rennes' ass. He was close, he could smell it, the salty precome suddenly sour like vinegar, but not quite at his peak. Vesemir's own neglected cock drooled against Rennes' cheeks, making a sticky mess of them both. He pulled his fingers out and slicked his cock before gripping behind the head and lining them up.

Rennes might have cried out, Vesemir couldn't tell because his own shouts of pleasure were too loud. Fuck, they were going to get an earful from Lambert come morning but he didn't care. Rennes was still tight around him like he'd been all those years ago, muscle gripping and clenching, trying to hold him inside.

There was no way they were going to last, Vesemir got in a few good thrusts before spilling, and managed to push a hand between Rennes' hips and the bed to stroke him off. All his stamina drained out of his cock and Vesemir collapsed, trying not to crush his partner beneath him. But Rennes rolled over, pulling him close, smashing their lips together.

“Thank you. I don't know if I can make my body do that again, but—”

“We'll figure it out,” Vesemir mumbled back. He licked inside Rennes' mouth, the heat of their lovemaking still surrounding them. Their comedown wasn't all at once, but a slow trip down a mountain, skin still sparking with pleasure as they continued to touch and feel. “If you want.”

“I do.” Rennes pushed their foreheads together and they pretended he didn't have tears at the corners of his eyes. “I want all of you. For a thousand years, like it was supposed to be.”

A stone of grief sat heavy in Vesemir's stomach, it had been there for decades, since he watched his castle burn. Some days it was smaller, other days it filled him up until he couldn't breathe around it. Rennes' presence made it both heavier and lighter. “Nothing is how it's supposed to be. But we have each other again.”

They fell asleep, sweat and come still cooling on their skin. They'd regret it in the morning; they were no longer young Witchers would could bounce back from a rough night of sex with a single stiff drink. But it was worth it to feel again, to finally start putting the pieces back together.

* * *

The next morning, as he went to tend the horses, Vesemir saw three figures on the mountain, Geralt and Jaskier, and Eskel walking beside them. Must've crosses paths on the way up, decided to journey together to keep the human safe and warm, prolonging the amount of time in each other's company. Good, they'd all be here soon. Vesemir hated having to wait so long to show them all to Rennes.

Lambert was vastly improved by the presence of the others, his prickly nature transferred to them, teasing and playing like cubs instead of lashing out and snarling. Give him a target of authority (or former authority) and the protective walls went up, guarding his old wounds from being reopened. But as soon as he had someone to play off of, his true strength would show through—Rennes already admired the still Lambert set up, and now Vesemir wanted him to see them training. In short, they were better, their skills sharper, they pushed one another, egging the others on to train harder. In fact, Vesemir knew without the shadow of a doubt, that his three boys were better than some entire classes that came out of Kaer Morhen. And he so wanted Rennes to see just that, show him the strength the remained in Kaer Morhen.

When Geralt, Eskel and Jaskier finally made it to the gates, Vesemir grabbed Rennes, dragging him away from the giant stack of books across the library floor. He wanted to find out what had been destroyed, see what information he needed to write down from his own memory. It was a noble task but too large for one person. “I told you, Jaskier helps with the library. Let him assist you.” Vesemir told Rennes whatever he needed to know: Lambert made moonshine, Eskel and Geralt took care of big repairs, Jaskier helped around the keep. Rennes ignored it all, trying to do everything himself. They had a whole winter to make the old Witcher realize he wasn't alone anymore. “Come, they're almost at the gates.”

Rennes followed along, holding Vesemir's hand tight in his. After days in the library, shuffling broken shelves, lugging heavy piles of books, his body suddenly wouldn't move right. Vesemir tugged him and he wanted to follow... but his legs were filled with lead and all he could do was shuffle along. The boys, Vesemir's pups were finally home, the pups Rennes abandoned...

Lambert stood in the courtyard, already waiting for them. His eyes flicked down to Rennes' hand in Vesemir's, but he didn't say a word, turning to look at the gates instead. Rennes couldn't bare to watch Geralt and Eskel arrive, so he watched Lambert instead, saw the wide smile break across his face as they walked through the gates. Fuck, that little sourpuss he remembered had never looked so happy. His face was aglow, eyes wide and bright. It took all of three seconds for him to shout. “You're back!” and run across the courtyard, jumping entire staircases.

Lambert launched himself into Geralt and Eskel's arms, both of them bracing to catch the flying Witcher. Fuck, but Eskel was a mountain, broader than he was when Rennes left, he could've sworn they were already full grown by then. The armor gave all of them a little bulk, but there was just _more_ to Eskel now. Geralt was built too, his shoulders as wide as Eskel's, waist trimmer. In fact, Lambert looked to be the smallest of them all, and there was no _small_ when it came to Witchers. They jumped into each other's arms and embraced, pushing their foreheads together in greeting.

And then there was the bard, this _Jaskier_ Vesemir mentioned. As tall as the rest of them, he was bundled in several heavy cloaks, his skin showing the dryness and cold of their trip, but a smile on his lips. Lambert quickly pulled him in as well, burying his face into Jaskier's neck. Rennes heard it from across the courtyard, three hearts falling into sync, one human heart beating rapidly from excitement, from love.

Leaning in, Rennes whispered in Vesemir's ear, “They're amazing. You've raised some wonderful looking boys.”

“Thank you.” Vesemir sighed happily and let himself bask in the moment. With their home mostly destroyed, their other mentors, the entire support system built to help Wolves on The Path swept away under their feet, Vesemir still managed to keep his last pups safe. Not just safe, strong and thriving, the best Witchers to ever walk the Continent. He gripped Rennes tight and hugged him close, whispering back, “I've waited so long for someone to see them as I do, not as monsters, but protectors.”

As they made their way towards the front doors, Jaskier and Lambert stopping, waiting for Geralt and Eskel to take care of their horses before continuing up towards the keep proper, Rennes felt a new pressure in his chest. Regret, _I should've been here to see this, should've come back, stayed at Vesemir's side_ , sitting side by side with pride, _they're good boys, the best I've ever seen, Vesemir did well_.

Finally, they made it to the top of the steps and stopped in front of Rennes, smiles suddenly fading. Even though the layers of cloaks and warm things, Jaskier winced. “Ow, Geralt, not so tight.” Dazzling blue eyes turned to the new gray haired Witcher standing before them. He wiggled out of Geralt's grasp and extended a hand. “Hello, I'm Jaskier, lovely to meet you.”

It took a moment, his eyes roving over Geralt and Eskel, together with Lambert, what a set they made, so strong, their scars enhancing their appearances, not taking away from them. Even Eskel's significant scarring looked noble, not the lopped off nose or missing ear some used to possess. “Rennes, nice to meet you.”

Jaskier smiled wider. “Headmaster Rennes? I've seen your portrait! Aren't you...” his voice dropped. “Didn't you fall? All those years ago?”

Lambert snorted. “Yeah, that's what we thought. Turns out—”

“We can talk inside, let's get out of the cold,” Vesemir interrupted. He glared daggers at Lambert but the smug bastard just shrugged.

In the relative warmth of the main hall (the cooking fire was always going, fed by Rennes as well as Vesemir, it was good to have an extra pair of hands around) Jaskier began to shake the cold from his limbs. But Geralt and Eskel stood as still as statues, their eyes on the former headmaster, the one they thought was dead. “During the battle,” Rennes said. “I led a group of invaders away, trying to buy everyone time to regroup. When I looked back, all seemed lost.” He'd been through it a dozen times now, explaining it to himself, to Vesemir, to Lambert. It wasn't getting easier, he was still a coward. “I couldn't go back just to see my pack dead. It was too much.”

“Understandable,” Jaskier said. His eyes were very soft, head leaning against Geralt's shoulder, a comforting hand on Eskel. “Well, it's good you're back now. It'll be nice to hear your stories. Might even write a ballad for you: the Wolf Who Returned From Death.”

“Why did you return?” Geralt's teeth snapped shut around the words, surprisingly himself with his boldness. This was Rennes, the hair a little grayer (not the imposing jet black that dogged some of their nightmares) and his stupid mustache they all made fun of behind his back, but he looked... smaller somehow, dressed in shirtsleeves and breeches like Vesemir, no armor or sword on his back to reinforce the air of command he had to hold with the students. He was just another old Witcher. Geralt didn't know what to think about that.

“Vesemir found me.” These words were easier now, after a few months settling into his old home. Vesemir found him, brought him back, and despite the pain, he was grateful to his old partner.

“We can talk about it later, if you like. But now.” Vesemir nodded towards the cooking fire, specifically, the nest of rugs in front of it.

It was a sort of tradition, as soon as they were all home for the season, Vesemir sat them down in front of the large fire and they all basked in the presence of their pack. Four hearts beating as one, a warm nose at the back of your neck, or a hand softly petting you hip... Jaskier joined them now, squishing in, so warm and human, bright like the fire they all warmed themselves by. It was a tradition as old as the School of the Wolf, but before it was mentors leaning in to other mentors, students with other students... Such boundaries didn't exist anymore. They were all one pack and piled around the fire together, reconnecting to their home after a long year away. It was another reason Vesemir wanted all of them home, to give Rennes the last connection he still needed.

“We'll be waiting.” Tugging Rennes towards the dining hall, Vesemir flicked his eyes over Jaskier, then to Geralt. He nodded, understanding the silent signal. _Wolves only for this one, no need to overwhelm_...

They headed upstairs to put their things away, Lambert trailing in their wake. They exchanged quick kisses and nuzzles before separating, Lambert went with Eskel to his room to touch a little more; he had a different connection with each of them, and always went to Eskel for soft pets over his hair, eyelash kisses against his cheeks. They deserved their moment just like Jaskier deserved a moment with Geralt before he fulfilled his duty to his pack, a very welcome duty.

“I'd like you to rest up here,” he said. Their things were put away, dirty traveling clothes thrown onto the pile of laundry. All they had left was a snuggle in front of the fire, followed by a trip to the hot springs. “I know you enjoy sitting in front of the fire with us—”

“But it is a Wolf thing, and for the first time, you have a new Wolf among you.” Oh, Jaskier always knew far more than Geralt wanted him to. He noticed too much and one day, he'd see the extent to which their hearts were truly tied to him. “Of course I understand.” Leaning in, plush lips pressed against his, a tongue flicking out with the promise of more later after they settled in. “Go, be with your family.”

“Thank you.” Geralt swept him up, pulling Jaskier into his arms for another deep, searching kiss, licking into his mouth, saying all the things he couldn't with his words.

“Oh, my.” Jaskier fanned himself and lay down on the bed. “You tell me to rest and then you do _that_.”

With a smirk, Geralt walked out, closing the door behind him so Jaskier could get some rest. He met Eskel and Lambert in the hall and they all headed downstairs again. There they saw Vesemir spooned around Rennes', one hand stroking his hair. Both had pulled out the leather straps keeping their hair back, letting it flow free around them, rough and not as soft as it was in their youth, but it did the trick, spreading their scent far and wide. Vesemir smelled like home, warm meals, and ale, and Rennes... The memories came back in a rush. Rennes also smelled like their home, but the harder parts. The smoke of the fire, the rough wood of the chairs and creaking cots they lay in as trainees. The idea of piling together, offering comfort to their unyielding headmaster...

Vesemir opened his eyes and looked at them all. _Please_. Geralt fell to his knees in front of the fire, laying on Rennes' other side, back to back. Eskel curled into his arms and pushed his head under his chin, sighing softly as the feel of home settled over them. As usual, Lambert sprawled himself across the top, mostly on Geralt and Eskel, but one arm thrown out to touch Vesemir... and now, Rennes. The soft crackle of the fire, logs popping occasionally, they all closed their eyes and let the peace of their pack settle around them.

There was salt on the air, a shiver against Geralt's back. “I've got you,” Vesemir whispered, threading his fingers through hair as long and as gray as his own.

They pretended they didn't hear the low gasp of breath, or smell the tears. Geralt simply held Eskel close, his other hand wrapping around Lambert as best he could, and he knew Vesemir was doing the same for Rennes. Yes, he was a little angry, all these years and Rennes never came back? Never tried to see what was left? The anger was pointless and Geralt let it go quickly. After so long, it was just another useless emotion standing between him and happiness. Geralt stopped getting in his own way, he wasn't about to deny Rennes that same chance.

They stayed lumped together in front of the fire far longer than usual, and the sun had set by the time Lambert started to wiggle. He was always the first one up, too restless. “I'll get Jaskier. See you in the hot spring.” He left the hall, followed by Eskel, then Geralt. Vesemir and Rennes stayed curled together and no one said a word about it.


	4. Wandering Back To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Geralt and Eskel back for the season, they took over the hard labor. When Rennes tried to join them, they fell into old habits, “No sir, we can handle it.” He tried not to frown. When he walked into the courtyard, he heard them happy, joking and laughing, but as soon as they saw him the smiles fell away. They became initiates again, the one Rennes kicked out of his way. He loved his keep and the men who filled it, but a headmaster needed an iron fist, or an iron boot. But he wasn't that man anymore, that Witcher.
> 
> Strenuous labor gone, Rennes couldn't exhaust himself at night, not even Vesemir's patient hands and lips helped. Some nights were better than others, when his body cooperated, listening to his desires to love the old Witcher beside him, he slept better. However, some nights he lay soft at Vesemir's side until his partner fell asleep, then he crawled from the bed, wandering the halls instead of waiting for the nightmares.

While to Vesemir, the castle was filled with life now—Eskel and Geralt laughing and shoving, Lambert scooping Jaskier up whenever he pleased and cackling at the bard's squeaks—for Rennes it was still empty. The halls were empty, the stones old and scarred. Everywhere he looked he saw it, no matter how many tapestries he repaired to cover all that was still so broken. A dining hall that should be filled with brothers, the sweaty smell of two hundred Witchers, now held only five.

With Geralt and Eskel back for the season, they took over the hard labor. When Rennes tried to join them, they fell into old habits, “No sir, we can handle it.” He tried not to frown. When he walked into the courtyard, he heard them happy, joking and laughing, but as soon as they saw him the smiles fell away. They became initiates again, the one Rennes kicked out of his way. He loved his keep and the men who filled it, but a headmaster needed an iron fist, or an iron boot. But he wasn't that man anymore, that Witcher.

Strenuous labor gone, Rennes couldn't exhaust himself at night, not even Vesemir's patient hands and lips helped. Some nights were better than others, when his body cooperated, listening to his desires to love the old Witcher beside him, he slept better. However, some nights he lay soft at Vesemir's side until his partner fell asleep, then he crawled from the bed, wandering the halls instead of waiting for the nightmares.

Kaer Morhen was a castle, and a defensive castle at that (though what good it did them during the battle, he didn't know) so most of the windows were narrow, better for shooting arrows than gazing across the keep, but there were a few spots. Rennes ended up in the library most nights, a fur wrapped around his naked shoulders, standing at the large windows, his skin feeling the chill of the draft. Broken window panes, too high up to reach, and there was always wind blowing somewhere in Kaer Morhen, making her sing and whistle. He let the fur drop to his feet as he stared and stared. Empty grounds, empty halls, only a few hearts beating in his ear...

“I thought I was the only one who used the library in the dead of night.” The soft voice startled and Rennes turned sharply. The bard, Jaskier, stood with a candle in his hand, a tired smile on his lips. Though he was wrapped up in what looked like Geralt's clothes and a fur stolen from the White Wolf's bed, he didn't care a single bit for Rennes' nakedness.

Remembering where he was, that they had _guests_ now, it wasn't his home alone with Vesemir, Rennes quickly grabbed his own fur from the floor, covering up. “My apologies.”

“Please, this is your home. I can't count the number of times I've walked in on Vesemir in the hot springs, had an eyeful of everyone around here, I dare say.” He turned towards the shelves, allowing Rennes a moment to collect his dignity, before pulling a dusty tome down. “Poetry, Vesemir knows who I like. Sometimes I can't sleep. I recommend Charent, if you're interested. Lovely man, I've heard, but dull as dust. Knock you out in two stanzas or less.” With his sought after book in hand, Jaskier turned to go, back to bed with Geralt and probably the others as well. He smelled of all of them, and a hint of chamomile and lavender.

“Wait,” he called. “I've been meaning to thank you.”

Though his eyes were tired, dark circles just barely visible in the light of the candle, Jaskier smiled. “For what?”

“For teaching them how to love. I was... a cold man. I had to be. There was no love in this keep for the young ones, not until they were older. And Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, they never got to see what this place could be like after you survived a few years on The Path. They never knew what...” Rennes' throat froze around the words. He shouldn't pine for the old days, it helped no one. And yet, he did, he longed to shut his eyes and remember his castle whole and filled to the rafters with voices. Those memories were gone now, tainted with the blood freshly splashed across his memory. He loved Vesemir, but this... it wasn't his Kaer Morhen, it belonged to Vesemir and his pack now.

Fuck, what was he even doing here? He didn't belong, should've told Vesemir to fuck off and leave him be, should've—

“Mmm, yes, they had a lot to learn, but the building materials were there. Good clay for me to work with.” Eyes too clever by half looked him up and down. “They've been through a lot, but they've survived. And so have you. I hope Vesemir's love helps you find peace.”

 _Definitely too clever_. Short of piling together in front of the fire, Vesemir kept their touches brief. He wasn't ashamed, not in his own home, but he and Rennes... they'd always been private. Deep kisses were saved for the bedroom after a long day, when Rennes went down on his knees to thank Vesemir. He never knew the correct words, but his tongue spoke another language that pleased them both.

“Goodnight.” He nodded and Jaskier left, taking his light with him.

Rennes walked back in the dark, and for the first time, he didn't see the pitted stones around him, the splintering beams. All he saw was a path leading him back to Vesemir. The bard was right, Vesemir was nothing if not loving and giving, trying to show him that he belonged. He never would, not in Kaer Morhen, but perhaps Rennes belonged next to Vesemir instead?

The door creaked as he closed it and Vesemir stirred, yellow eyes reflecting the fire light. “Where'd you go?”

“Library.” He dropped the fur and crawled under the blankets, pressing his chilled skin against Vesemir's warmth, letting the other old Wolf hold him close.

The flesh between his legs thickened, pushing into Vesemir's own slowly rising cock. “You sure?” Vesemir asked. “It's late.” His body didn't always cooperate, and when it did, Rennes had learned to seize every opportunity, but Vesemir was good about asking. Every time.

“Yes.” He thrust quickly, dragging a stripe of precome along Vesemir's thigh. Lips worn from too many winters grabbed at his, teeth quickly following. His cock jumped again at the sharp bite and his breath caught. Still groggy, Vesemir rolled them over, pinning Rennes to the bed. One hand fumbled for the tin of slick under the pillows while the other slid down to Rennes' neck, thumb resting in the notch of his collarbone. He arched up into the touch, trying to get those fingers to wrap around, squeeze just enough.

They both knew what Rennes' desires were about. They didn't discuss it. Sometimes, when Rennes went down on his knees for Vesemir, Vesemir shook his head. “I won't punish you.” Other nights, he gladly dug his nails into Rennes' back, scratching just enough to sting, but not hard enough to mark. Sometimes, he understood why Rennes needed the pain, it was his penance. No one hated him for running, except Lambert, but his hatred was more irritated indifference. Vesemir's heavy hands... they brought clarity. Rennes needed that clarity.

“Spread,” Vesemir said, voice firm. He never barked orders or commands, he used the calm, yet stiff tone of the fencing instructor to get what he wanted. Rennes was only too happy to cooperate.

Spreading his legs, Vesemir's fingers traveled down until they brushed against his hole. They weren't quite old hat at this yet (relearning the steps to a dance you once knew...) and two fingers burned in exactly the right way. Vesemir was patient, working Rennes open gently before lining up the head of his cock. All the burning stretch was gone, leaving only pleasure behind, but Rennes was too far gone now. His body would not betray him, his mind would not get in the way and make him limp again, not tonight.

Resting their foreheads together, Vesemir's hands slid to his wrists, pushing them up and back against the head of the bed. “No more,” he growled as he snapped his hips. “I won't hurt you, Rennes, I won't be your punisher.”

With the shadow of burning stretch in his ass, the tug at his shoulders as Vesemir pushed him back, and the lack of leverage, Rennes' was well taken care of. Heat pooled in his belly as he tried to push against Vesemir's hold, but couldn't overpower the other Witcher. “This is enough,” he gasped. “This is enough.”

Confident Rennes would keep his hands where Vesemir put them, he moved one hand down, wrapping around his leaking cock. Vesemir jerked him quick, but not without skill. He smirked when Rennes' breath hitched, the tip of his thumb swiping over his slit. Sparks shot down Rennes' spine and his hips twitched, body starting to move of its own free will. He gripped tighter to Vesemir's hips, biting his lip. “Ves—shit—”

Vesemir's hand on his cock tightened, stroking faster until Rennes groaned, back arching, seed painting his chest. The body under him clenched, pulling Vesemir over. He buried his face into Rennes' neck, biting down on sweaty skin. Come drying, joints aching, he whispered, “You've always been more than enough for me.”

* * *

Vesemir's firm hands quieted his mind for a time, but Rennes still found himself wandering the castle, looking for the differences. He needed things to fix, the more broken objects he found, the more he could repair.

Every now and again, he opened his eyes and didn't know how he'd gotten to a specific corridor, or believed himself to be in the remains of the south tower when really he was in the east tower. The day he wandered down to the basement...

He didn't know why. Vesemir was reluctant to talk about the battle, and the boys said nothing. Jaskier was better at giving information. “Geralt tells me things, after nightmares. I've pieced the timeline together through contemporary accounts.” The bright song of a man shivered at the memory. The memory of a memory written on warm parchment, not something he witnessed with his own eyes. But Jaskier was a soft soul, prone to emotions. It made sense that he'd feel the pain of his lovers so deeply.

He gathered the missing pieces from the young human, it did not make things better. He should've come back sooner, he knew this now with every part of his being.

The scent of smoke—acrid and choking, strong enough to make his eyes water—snapped Rennes' attention back to his surroundings. The basement, the mages, where the fanatics—

Everything was black. Floors, walls, ceiling. Where the ceiling wasn't caved in, that is. A charred, skeletal hand draped over an equally burned chunk of wood that would've come from a table, a wall, any number of things. Melted glass gleamed like dull stones scattered across the burned floor, destruction everywhere, so complete.

Rennes couldn't breathe, he didn't remember how. His fingers were numb, his feet filled with lead. The basement, the fucking laboratory, the place where they destroyed children. Part of him thought he'd be happy to see it in ruins, but there was no good here, just pain, endless pain.

Time stretched and distorted, he didn't know how long he'd been there. Staring. Not breathing. Didn't hear the pounding steps on the stairs behind him. “Fuck!” the word sounded so far away, muffled, like shouting through water. The hand on his shoulder was very real, close and firm, yanking Rennes back up the stairs. “What the fuck—” Lambert.

The heavy door to the basement slammed behind them, the smell of burning gone now, and Rennes inhaled. His head spun with the influx of oxygen and Lambert almost pushed him away, but the hand on his shoulder was still there. “What the fuck were you doing? We don't go down there anymore!” Lambert spat.

“I...” Rennes blinked, but there was nothing, no words in his mind or his mouth, no explanation. “I don't know.”

A low growl brought his attention back to the surface. Lambert wasn't growling at him, he didn't think. “Vesemir!” he shouted, voice carrying through the whole tower. “Vesemir, I need you!”

A door slammed open somewhere above them, frantic steps quickly followed. The door at the end of the hall burst open and Vesemir appeared, face pale. “What happened?” He pulled Rennes into his chest, quickly scenting him. “Why does he smell like smoke?”

“Got into the basement,” Lambert said.

The feeling slowly returned to Rennes' fingers. He gripped tight to Vesemir as he spoke to Lambert, not hearing the words. “I'll take care of it.”

The last thing Rennes remembered were Lambert's lips turned down, his eyes soft and sad as he looked at them. “Get him to bed. Sleep helps,” Lambert grumbled, then left them alone.

Vesemir dragged him upstairs and shoved Rennes into bed. A soft hand cupped his face and the tears began, locked behind a wall of shock until the moment Vesemir broke it. “Why? Why did you go down there? I told you—”

Yes, Vesemir did tell him, on as few words as possible, “Fanatics burned the laboratory, nothing left...” but Rennes had to see it. He had to see it all. He turned his back on his keep as it convulsed and burned, he had to atone...

Vesemir didn't wait for an answer. He leaned forward, kissing so hard, it almost hurt. His own tears smudged with Rennes' before he pulled away. “Sleep,” he said. “Sleep. For me?”

“Yes.” Rennes closed his eyes and let the exhaustion pulling at his mind take him down to where the burnt bodies in the cellar were just a nightmare.

He didn't know how long he slept, but the murmur of soft voices so very far away scratched at his ears. “I don't know what to do, some days he's fine, others...”

“You're doing the best you can,” Jaskier answered.

“Am I? Was I right to drag him back here? He seemed happy. Had a silversmithing business, his own shop. Fuck, I tore him away from that because I'm fucking selfish. I wanted—”

“Vesemir, forgive my forwardness, but you're a fucking idiot. _Of course_ it's better for him here. Imagine he started experiencing flashbacks out in the world? Here, he's safe to work through the emotions and his trauma without risking the life of a human. The pain at the start will be unbearable, but he will heal better with you.”

Vesemir huffed and Rennes knew the exact smile that was on his face, small, mostly hidden under his scruffy facial hair, but there all the same. “How do you have so much faith in me? I don't even believe I can bring him back from this brink.”

“I know you can because you've done it before. There are three wonderful men waiting in my bed, who used to be very broken indeed. They aren't fixed, people can't be fixed, but they are better. Rennes will get better too.”

“Thank you, Jaskier. I will not keep you from them any longer.”

A few moments later, the door opened and Rennes turned to meet Vesemir's eyes. “You need to sleep,” he sighed, stripping and crawling under the covers.

Once strong arms were around him again, Rennes closed his eyes. “It's better with you.” Whether Vesemir knew he was speaking about the bed, or... _everything_ else, Rennes didn't ask. But Vesemir held him tighter, breathing softly into the back of his neck as they found sleep together. Calm this time, undisturbed by nightmares.

* * *

Rennes made an effort to never go near the basements again. He wouldn't do that to Vesemir, the fear and panic in his voice and scent was more than enough to put his mind right. He went up instead, exploring the towers. Lambert liked to climb them, so they were at least moderately steady.

“Your office is still in tact, they never made it that far,” Vesemir told him. So, Rennes went to see his office, not quite sure what he was looking for.

There was no dust or dirt, the room was clearly well cared for. He inhaled deeply and the smell of the cooking fire filled his lungs. Vesemir... so Vesemir tended to his office, kept it tidy, even after all these years.

The books were his, he remembered them, endless ledgers from Witchers on The Path. Most of the younger ones—Geralt and Eskel's generation—didn't keep notes, but the older Witchers did, writing down what towns stiffed them so they could pass the word along to any others they met; recording how many drowners they killed and where, making note in case of a future infestation... and yes, there was the odd record here and there of a Child Surprise.

He didn't plan to sit at his desk, but he got caught up in the old ledgers, reading the words of his brothers so long gone. After too long pouring over the old notes, Rennes looked up and found his own eyes staring back. The portrait that used to hang outside the office in the corridor now sat in the corner, propped up against a bookshelf. His younger self looked back at him, hair black, mustache as bushy as ever. Rennes stroked the hair on his own face as he looked at himself preserved on canvas.

He didn't recognize the eyes that looked back at him. For one, painters never got Witcher eyes right. Except once: he remembered seeing a painting years ago of some unknown Witcher fighting a griffin. There were no specific details—scars were too similar to half a dozen men he'd known—just a generic Witcher the painter clearly stumbled across in the middle of a contract. But the eyes, they were perfect, alight with the glow of battle, concentrating all their righteous fury on the beast in front of them, the rest of the world falling away. That was the only painting Rennes had ever seen where the eyes were right, the heat of battle, the only place Witchers truly became who they were designed to be.

Hard eyes stared out at him from the canvas, dull and yellow, flat, no emotion or passion in them. It's how the world saw Witchers, but Rennes felt that passion inside himself, nestled in along with fear, the clawing worthlessness Vesemir tried to beat back every time they got close... He was full of emotions now, maybe he always had been. The face in that painting, the one who ruled this castle with a firm hand, was long gone.

The armor that Witcher wore, now Rennes had a soft tunic and breeches that smelled like Vesemir, his hands burned from the forge instead of scarred from a contract... he was not that man anymore. He never wanted to be him again.

Leaving the office behind, Rennes let his feet carry him down, down, until he found himself in the hot springs. The boys were off hunting, the bard and Vesemir tending to the library. He was alone. Jaskier's shaving kit lay with his other tools, gentle soaps and balms he loving rubbed into Geralt, Eskel and Lambert's skin. He offered Rennes whatever he might like, but all Rennes wanted was Vesemir; it was the only clear thing in his mind, the rock he managed to latch himself to as the rest of this new life set him adrift.

Stripping down and picking the soap that most smelled like Vesemir (rosemary, like the meals he cooked for them, keeping his pups strong all winter long, fuck that bard was too observant for his own good) he worked up a lather and spread it across his cheeks. The portrait, the cold eyes, the mustache, the neatly contained hair, it wasn't him anymore. Maybe it never was.

The first press of the cool blade on his cheek sent a shiver down his spine as he shaved away the few days of stubble. He should trim the hair first, do a proper job of it, but Rennes just wanted it gone. And soon, it was. As the ends of his mustache lay on the floor, he grabbed the scissors and attacked his hair, already feeling lighter.

* * *

“Dum-dah-dah...” Jaskier hummed under his breath. No, not quite right. He wasn't finished with the library for the day, but inspiration struck while he had his nose buried in some eighth century literature and he had to work it out. No better way to wade through creative thoughts that in a nice bath. Vesemir got tired of his nonsense singing and sent him off.

Jaskier opened the door to the springs and stopped. There was a clump of hair on the slick floor, aged and gray. What— “My apologies, I'll clean it up.” He looked up to find Rennes sitting in the pool, his face clean shaven but his hair chopped at a little haphazardly. The tail that usually rested at his neck was gone, the rest of it cut as short as he could manage on his own, but a few stray long locks remained in hard to reach places.

“Apology is unnecessary. This is the place for tending to one's hair. Would you, uh...” Jaskier bit his lip as he slowly undressed, leaving his smalls for the moment. “Would you like me to finish it for you? Smooth it out a bit?”

Rennes frowned. “Is it that bad?”

“Not bad, not at all, merely unfinished. Short is easier to manage, but some areas are hard to shape by yourself.” Rennes turned away and Jaskier took the opportunity to strip completely. He'd seen every Witcher in this castle naked in the springs, even Vesemir. But he didn't want to crowd Rennes, they hadn't been alone like this much, not since his wandering in the library, which Jaskier recognized as typical Witcher sleeplessness. They all suffered from it and he tried his best not to mention it, lest they feel like there was something wrong with them. For people who supposedly had no emotions, they were all so delicate, hearts and minds so easily bruised; Jaskier loved it, loved being _allowed_ to see those soft layers they tried to hide.

After a moment of thought, Rennes nodded and pulled himself from the water, sitting on one of the benches. Jaskier jumped to grab his scissors and wrapped a towel around his hips for good measure; he didn't mind being naked around any of the others, but it was difficult to concentrate when he was trying not to let his prick touch Vesemir's partner.

He started at the neck, evening out the length, snipping away the last remnants of the tail. He paid no mind the little shiver that rippled across Rennes' shoulders with each touch, Jaskier was more than used to the others melting under his hands, even Vesemir when the oldest Wolf needed a back massage to relieve some of the tension life set on him.

“If you ever need to relax, I do a very good back rub,” Jaskier said, keeping his tone light and conversational, trying to draw Rennes' attention away from the tingles no doubt running down his spine. He had the look of a Wolf on the edge of bliss and Jaskier was secretly pleased that he could bring out this feeling for them all, he wanted them happy, whether it was in his bed or not. “Even Vesemir enjoys my relaxation services. Funny thing though...” the dramatic pause had the exact effect Jaskier wanted: Rennes turned a little, listening closely, “he hasn't asked me this year. Usually the pressure of running the keep by himself has him in knots by the time I arrive for winter. This year, he seems more relaxed, content, I might even go as far as to say he's happy.”

Rennes smiled. “He's not normally like this?” The strong, steady man who held him at night seemed so solid and sure, Rennes couldn't imagine Vesemir any other way.

Jaskier thought for a moment. “There's more weight on him. He's here all year by himself, he sees all the cracks and imperfections. Usually. There's a definite change in him, for the better, I feel.”

Jaskier started humming softly as he worked, leaving Rennes alone with his thoughts. The burden of the castle, and him on top of it, it wasn't... he wasn't hurting Vesemir, making his life harder for needing the love so willingly given. The stone of guilt inside Rennes shifted a little, just a bit, but it felt different now. Lighter. Better.

“Thank you, Jaskier.”

“Hmm? For what?” They both smirked. The bard knew exactly _what_. But they stayed quiet until Jaskier announced his hair, “Finished! Do tell me what Vesemir thinks.”

“That I will.” Cleaning the stray hairs off his shoulders, Rennes got out of the water and cleaned up the rest of his mess from earlier. He pulled on his clothes and left the hot springs, his limbs lighter.

He found Vesemir in the kitchen, dicing vegetables for dinner. He turned and smiled at Rennes, but his mouth fell open in shock. “What—”

“Do you like it?” Clean shaven, hair cut short, he looked like a different man, felt like a different man. Was it still a face Vesemir could love?

Setting down his knife, Vesemir swept over, immediately wrapped one arm around Rennes' hips, the other around the back of his head. Nails scratched at his scalp as he pulled their lips together. Vesemir's own scruffy facial hair irritated the newly exposed skin, but Rennes didn't care. He sucked a lip between his, worrying the skin a little before licking, tasting ale and _home_ , Vesemir was home now, maybe he always had been.

Vesemir pulled away with the growl, resting their foreheads together. “Dinner is going to be late tonight.” Dragging Rennes from the kitchen, they were upstairs in the blink of an eye, a strong hand on his shoulder pushing him to his knees. “Alright?” Vesemir opened his breeches, letting his already hard cock fall out.

Rennes licked at the head. “Perfect,” before swallowing him down. He moaned when blunt nails scratched his scalp, tingling fire shooting down his spine, right to his cock. Vesemir held him safe and secure while Rennes worshiped his cock, licking and sucking until they were both a mess. It didn't take long for Vesemir to spill across his tongue and Rennes moaned, cock pulsing in his breeches like a fucking teenager. But Vesemir made him feel again, and it was more than enough, it was everything.


	5. Silver Shining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though he seemed to settle into the life they had here, Rennes still wandered. Vesemir's heart pounded every time he found him near the basement again, even though he promised not to go down there. Jaskier found him at night from time to time, floating through the halls like a wraith, eyes tired but unable to sleep. Vesemir remembered those sleepless nights shortly after the keep fell, they came back sometimes, but Rennes was still in the thick of it, the beginning of the healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this is dedicated to the amazing RawrkinJD, I hope you've enjoyed <3

“He doesn't have a space of his own.” Lambert sat down in front of Vesemir, who was sorting alchemy ingredients. It was the dead of winter, the boys wouldn't be heading out for months still, but he liked to have their supplies prepared. Jaskier was shut away in the library and insisted he needed silence to _compose_ , so here Vesemir was.

He pulled his mind away from the ingredients in his hands. “What?”

“Rennes.” Lambert brushed one of the piles towards himself and started helping. Despite his smart mouth, Lambert didn't mind doing most chores, he just complained to keep up appearances. “He doesn't have his own space. I have the still, Geralt and Eskel go to train in the courtyard when they need to unwind, and Jaskier goes to the hot spring. This whole place is basically yours, but we all have a spot. Rennes doesn't.”

Though he seemed to settle into the life they had here, Rennes still wandered. Vesemir's heart pounded every time he found him near the basement again, even though he promised not to go down there. Jaskier found him at night from time to time, floating through the halls like a wraith, eyes tired but unable to sleep. Vesemir remembered those sleepless nights shortly after the keep fell, they came back sometimes, but Rennes was still in the thick of it, the beginning of the healing. He didn't know what else he could do, but it seemed Lambert had an idea.

“What do you mean?”

“Where does Geralt go when he's frustrated? Or needs fucking mental space.” Of course the example couldn't be about him. “He goes to spar with Eskel. Where does Jaskier go when he needs a break? Soaks in the springs. Where do you go?”

Vesemir's eyes flashed over to the cooking fire. “Kitchen.” Chopping, butchering, peeling, having something to do with his hands helped his mind focus, helped him think about what he truly provided to his pups, not just a place to rest their heads but a real home for the winter.

“Exactly. Rennes doesn't have that. The office upstairs isn't his anymore. He's been off The Path so long, the only thing he has here is you.” While Vesemir didn't need his partner's emotional state explained to him (he saw it, ever night when Rennes went down on his knees or asked to be pinned to the bed) he was impressed by Lambert's assessment. They'd all learned well from Jaskier it seemed, even the most closed off among them was paying attention.

“What do you suggest?”

Lambert shrugged. “Whatever makes him feel like—I don't know—like he belongs? I never got to know him in the old days, you can figure it out. I'm just telling you what I see. He wanders around the castle looking for meaning, purpose. Think of what'll give him that.”

“Thank you.” Vesemir smirked softly. “Good to see Jaskier's taught you well.”

Lambert scowled. “Yeah, well...” He didn't have a follow up for that. Though he spent most of the winter scowling at Rennes, grumbling about the noise he and Vesemir made at night, Lambert was secretly pleased, deep down. The chance to help another Wolf find his way in from the cold, when Lambert was usually the one they all doted over and tiptoed around, he liked that he was no longer the last broken soldier.

They finished their work in silence then Lambert disappeared to track down Jaskier. Vesemir stayed in the kitchen, continued working. The movement of his hands helped him think of what exactly Rennes might still need from him. What else could he give? For if Rennes asked, Vesemir would give him the world.

* * *

All of Rennes' belongings fit in the back of a cart already stuffed with supplies. His clothing, his bedroll, his silversmiting tools, tools he hadn't picked up since they passed through Kaer Morhen's gates. There was too much he wanted to do, convinced himself he needed to do. Yet, with the hardest work of winter mostly behind them, Rennes found his days empty. His nights were very full indeed, on his knees in front of Vesemir, or on the bed, hips tilted to present his ass to hungry eyes and fingers. Most nights were good... it was better.

But his tools still sat quietly in the closet, unused. Vesemir showed him the trove of silver objects he saved and cared for, and Rennes smiled. His work had gotten better over the years with more time to focus on his craft, but the old pieces still brought a smile to his face. He looked at them often, taking over the job of polishing and maintaining them.

Every few days, he'd open the locked cupboard to look in on his tools and Vesemir's treasures, the ones left from their old life together, the few shiny parts of it that there were. But today, when Rennes opened the closet reserved for silver and his tools, his things were missing. The rings, bowls and chains were all still there, but his hammers, his pliers, all his equipment was gone.

Vesemir rose before he did that day and Rennes was alone, he had only himself to lean on. He closed his eyes, trying to calm the sudden ache inside him. There were so many different pains living inside Rennes these days, it took a moment to recognize this one. Not the pain of seeing his failure everywhere he looked—though that one was getting better as Vesemir took extra moments to highlight the good changes they'd made, not just the destruction—or the pain that sparked inside him whenever Geralt or Eskel called him “sir.” They were dropping the habit, slowly but surely. Last night, after Rennes beat him at Gwent, Eskel snarled and called him a bastard old man before going completely red. It was a good night.

No, this pain was new... his old life, the one he retreated into when he thought his school was gone forever, it was just a way to bury his head in the sand. It felt selfish to miss the sand, and yet, looking on his tools brought a small amount of comfort. He couldn't explain it, not even to himself, and now they were fucking _gone_.

“I have something to show you.”

Vesemir's soft voice made him jump. He didn't even hear the door open. “Ves, where—”

“Come, you'll see.” Taking Rennes by the hand, Vesemir pulled him away from the silver cupboard. Now that they were settled in, he should think of a spot to display all the old pieces he kept safe and hidden away. Ah well, a thought for another moment.

Rennes followed Vesemir through the halls, down the stairs and out into the courtyard. The old blacksmith forge was still there, he remembered seeing it when they first arrived. It wasn't in working shape, but still seemed to have the good air flow necessary for that sort of work, and the roof was intact. Sometime over the past weeks, Vesemir must have fixed it up, or had one of the boys do it. It looked perfect again, no different than the last time Rennes stood there, growling softly at Gardis, their blacksmith, to hurry the fuck up. Steel was much easier to work with than silver, and it was Rennes' turn...

“I moved your tools down here,” Vesemir said. “Covered, of course, to keep them safe from the elements.” He pointed at the locked strongbox under the work table. “You used to make beautiful things for us. You should again. Only if you like.”

Tears choked the back of his throat and Rennes buried his face in Vesemir's shoulder. He wanted to walk around the forge again, the space he once shared with the other smiths in the school, now his alone. He wanted to run his hands over the old materials sitting next to his newer tools, but he just couldn't. He needed to hold Vesemir close and thank him, because words weren't strong enough at this moment.

“This is our home,” Vesemir said. “I won't have you searching for your place in it any longer. It's right here, next to me.” He pressed a rough kiss to Rennes' lips, a kiss enthusiastically returned. They bit and nibbled, growling softly, their noses bumping together. Vesemir broke away, looking deep into his eyes. “I want you to have a place to go when you feel lost, but not in the middle of the night. If I find you frozen dead in this forge...”

Though the walls broke the wind, the courtyard was still cold, especially at night. “A reasonable request.” Rennes snatched on last kiss before wrapping his arm around Vesemir and pulling him back towards the keep proper. “I'll come back tomorrow, start work, but right now...” Rennes yanked a little harder, moving them back inside.

For the first time in so long, Vesemir followed Rennes' lead. He pulled Vesemir through the halls, up to their room, the sheets still warm from their sleeping bodies. Sure hands opened ties and buttons, stripping him with efficiency. Instead of falling down on his knees, Rennes pushed them back onto the bed and crawled up Vesemir's chest, rubbing his nose over old scars, licking a soft winter stomach with its dusting of fluffy gray hair. He remembered when it was thick and brown, and felt like a pelt under his hands. And Vesemir surely remembered Rennes' jet black hair, the carpet on his chest that went all the way down to his cock, contrasting nicely with winter pale skin.

They were old and gray now, but that could never dampen their fire, and neither could the fucking trauma lingering behind his eyes. Rennes gave into it enough, let it rule his thoughts and actions. Now, he wanted to give into Vesemir, and Vesemir alone. It took a moment, but his cock did what he wanted, firming up as their hips rolled together. Rennes licked across Vesemir's lips, then his neck, one hand sliding between his legs and teasing behind his balls. “Can I?”

“Yes. Fucking yes, of course.” Though Vesemir didn't want to let him go, he let Rennes pull away just enough to fetch their slick from its place under the pillows. Scarred fingers dipped into the soft salve and Vesemir let his knees fall open wide. He'd been looking at those fingers for months, aching to have them inside again, but Rennes needed something else from him. He was happy to give it, all the love and care and attention his partner needed, but now, Vesemir _wanted_ , and he was about to fucking _get_.

His muscles quivered from his thighs all the way up to his stomach as Vesemir tried to keep himself from pushing back into the lightly probing finger. Rennes had only started to circle his hole and already he wanted more. “Patience,” Rennes said, voice low and even.

“Ugh, fuck don't use your 'headmaster' voice on me. Just touch me.”

The wolfish smile that curled Rennes' lips made an entirely different heat bloom in his chest. _Yes, there you are_ , Vesemir thought, _there's my Rennes, he was in there somewhere_. The mustache was gone, the hair was cropped so short Vesemir couldn't grab anymore, but it didn't matter what he looked like, not as long as he kept touching, kept kissing, kept loving like the had so long ago.

Far too slow for Vesemir's liking, that finger pushed in, stroking gently. It was funny in a way, Rennes wanted Vesemir's heavy hands to hurt—just a little, just _enough_ —but he touched Vesemir like he was made of spun sugar, likely to break and crumble at any moment. He was about to grunt, _more, harder_ , when Rennes gave him more. A second finger slipped in and Vesemir let his legs fall open as wide as they'd go. Rennes took the invite and his other hand stroked the inside of soft thighs, the skin here still supple despite their age.

When the head of Rennes' cock brushed his hole, Vesemir didn't try to bite down on his moan. It was their fucking keep, they'd make all the noise they wanted and the boys could just live with it. He fought the urge to wrap his legs around Rennes until he felt a warm sac brush cheeks, then Vesemir grabbed for whatever he could get and pulled.

“Ohf!” Rennes grunted, now sprawled across Vesemir's chest, arms on either side of his shoulders, barely catching himself. “Can't let me take care of you for two seconds?”

“No.” Vesemir growled and lay the palm of his hand on the back of Rennes' head, smashing their lips together. He didn't miss the long hair, but without the handle, he had to improvise. Sliding his hand down to Rennes' neck, he held tight as they moved together, tilting his hips to accept slow, deep thrusts.

Sparks of pleasure shot through him, their cocks pinned between their bellies grinding together. Rennes' hand were planted on the bed, fingers digging into the linens as they slowly broke apart. Together, always together, from now on until forever...

Vesemir came with a shout, hips jerking. Rennes lost his steady rhythm but it didn't matter, he surrendered to Vesemir's body and moaned into the kiss, hips snapping as a brilliant climax washed over them. The scent of sweat, sex and each other filled the air of their room and Rennes breathed a sigh of relief. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I always have.”

He pulled out, but didn't go far, tangling their limbs together for a sleepy morning nap. The weight of Rennes' memories disappeared... for the moment. Which was more than enough.

* * *

He didn't have much silver to work with the first few days, but laying his hands on his tools again made Rennes feel better, more complete. He wasn't just a silversmith out in the world when he was running from his past hurt, he was the best damn silversmith to ever walk the halls of Kaer Morhen.

By the time he had the space set up the way he wanted, he stood, staring down at the old silver he managed to scavenge, trying to decide which object to break down for material... “Here.” He looked up to see Geralt and Eskel standing before him, holding large sacks, their skin dirty from the nearby mines. “There was a silver stash back in the mines, we brought it back for you.” They set their cargo at his feet and stepped out of the forge.

“Thank you.” Dressed in cloaks and work clothes, no armor, they were still giants. Fuck, were they always that big? Rennes couldn't remember... They were better about talking now, didn't flick their eyes away in old deference that had no place in Kaer Morhen anymore. Dinners were filled with conversation and laughter, four sets of golden eyes eagerly listening to Rennes' tales as avidly as he listened to them.

He shook himself. “Geralt, Vesemir says you use the wolf knuckledusters I made.” He retrieved the second set he made some years ago and kept for display wherever he plied his trade; he'd never sell them, not to anyone besides a Wolf. He presented them to Eskel. “I thought you might like a set as well. A Witcher depends on his gear, and I always tried to give my school the best.”

Eskel nodded, sliding the new weapons on, tensing his fingers to feel them. “Thank you. We'll leave you to your work.”

They headed into the keep. Before Rennes could examine what they'd brought him (a last load of silver that had been mined, but not brought in before the attack) he watched them go. Two giants of Witchers as they were, they leaned into each other, Geralt's arm wrapping around Eskel's hips, nose rubbing against his neck. “Gotta thank that bard,” Rennes mumbled to himself. True, there was love here all those years ago, but not like this, so open and free from grief. The way they used to grab at one another in the old days, there was love and passion, yes, but also the deep burning need to erase the blood behind their eyes. It didn't have to be like that anymore and Rennes was grateful for it.

The rest of winter was filled with warmth and comfort, a few nightmares, but they were fewer now, less intense. Whenever Rennes woke covered in a cold sweat, Vesemir was always there to hold him, kissing his tears away.

They piled in front of the cooking fire from time to time, when Lambert and Jaskier snarled at each other over Gwent (the only time the soft bard showed the steel Rennes knew was hiding under his skin). Geralt and Eskel sighed, pulling away from the fight before they were bullied into choosing sides and flopped down on the furs. Warm eyes found Rennes as he leaned into Vesemir's chest, a silent invite for them both. Laying together with his pack in front of the fire... Rennes could never stop the tears that came to his eyes, tears of pure joy for once. They never commented, not even Lambert, who still snarled and groaned whenever he thought the _former_ headmaster was getting too big for himself, but pressed his head between Rennes' shoulder blades all the same.

Vesemir promised music in winter and Jaskier did not disappoint. He sang his more popular tunes—the fucking coin song, as Lambert called it—to needle the boys, before staring in on the old melodies of Vesemir and Rennes' youth. The ballads they heard the older Witchers singing badly when they came back from a year on The Path. Twining their fingers together, Rennes closed his eyes and shared a memory with Vesemir: both of them young, medallions shiny and new around their necks, squished together in the same bunk, hungry lips devouring as the hall below rumbled with singing. There was music now, music, warmth and love. By the gods, was there love.

When the snows began to clear, Jaskier came down to see him in the forge. “I have a gift for you.” Both hands held behind his back, there was a little sparkle in his eye.

“What a coincidence,” Rennes said. “I have a gift for you as well.”

He arched a thick, yet well groomed eyebrow. “I'm intrigued. But me first.” Jaskier held out his hands, absolutely beaming. Nestled in lute calloused palms were a bar of soap wrapped in twine, and a jar of balm. Rennes had to lean in to smell them—a true testament to Jaskier's skill for making precious gifts with Witchers in mind—and smiled. The light scent of chamomile floated up from the balm, and there was an impossibly warm smell coming from the soap.

“Cinnamon, and cloves,” Jaskier said. “Vesemir tells me you taste like smoke, I thought these might _compliment_ well. The chamomile is for you both, here all year in the cold. It should help whatever aches you have.”

“Thank you. The others enjoy the scents you make them and I'm grateful you share your talents with me as well.”

“Of course.”

Rennes set them aside reverently to be taken back to their room later. He was going to have a few words with Vesemir about exactly when he told the bard what he tasted like. “And now, a gift for you.” He finished it yesterday, but was searching for the best time to present it. Jaskier seemed the type to take his destiny in his own hands and now was as good a time as any.

The silver clasp was sturdy enough for the road, it wouldn't break or get damaged easily, but the work was masterful. Delicate lines shaped with skilled hands. Jaskier's eyes went wide when he beheld the shining, silver buttercup in Rennes' hand. “Oh my...”

“To secure your cloak, or perhaps an ornament on your doublet for your next bardic competition?” The day the weather first started to warm, Jaskier spoke non-stop about the nearest competition. Geralt sighed dramatically but agreed to follow Jaskier wherever he might need to go. But the fond smile pulling at his cheek spoke the truth: they'd all follow Jaskier into hell itself, Vesemir included, and Rennes probably wouldn't be far behind. “I can never thank you for the light you've brought to my family. Please, accept this token.”

There was a hint of watery blue eyes before Rennes had an armful of human, surprisingly strong muscles squeezing him tight. “I'll wear it every performance, I promise. Thank you so much.”

Geralt, Eskel and Lambert were more _understated_ when Rennes presented their gifts. Three silver fangs with the mark of the School of the Wolf pressed into the base. The day they set out, each had a fang at his throat, holding their cloaks closed tight against the wind that still chilled. Jaskier had his buttercup tucked safely away, but he gushed about it whenever he had the chance.

“He wears rings,” Geralt whispered as they saw everyone off. “Not during the winter, too cold. He has a signet ring, and two silver ones for performances. I doubt he'd refuse another...” Giving Rennes an idea for next year, clever Wolf...

Vesemir and Rennes walked them all down to the gates and said their goodbyes, then went to the top of the walls and watched them go. Jaskier turned back every now and again, even after they were too far and there was no way his human eyes could make out the two old Witchers who watched them go.

When the sun started to set, Vesemir dragged Rennes inside, their hands clasped together. “Just you and me now. Will you be able to handle the quiet?”

It was part jest, part concern. _I know you remember halls filled with brothers, and now our last pups are gone. Can I alone satisfy you?_

Rennes squeezed Vesemir's fingers and pulled him towards their room. “We'll just have to fill it with noise of our own.” Though it was early and dinner needed seeing to, Vesemir let Rennes take him upstairs and make love to him.

It wasn't like the old days, it would never be like the old days, with the keep empty and broken, whistling with wind from cracked, shifted stones too far away to fix. But it was their home, Rennes' home once again, always and forever.

The End


End file.
